


The War-Cries of the Earth

by frau_kali, mandii



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Bottom!Charles, Canon fic, Charles You Slut, Erik has attachment issues, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, M/M, One Night Stand, Porn With Plot, Romance, Telepathy, Top!Erik, mutant powers during sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frau_kali/pseuds/frau_kali, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandii/pseuds/mandii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, alternatively, "X-Men First Class: the bits you didn't see."</p>
<p>Erik Lehnsherr did not do attachments, or relationships. All he cared about was finding, and killing, the man who murdered his mother and destroyed his life, even if he died doing it. Never did he expect to learn there were others like him--mutants--or that one of them, Charles Xavier, would be so infuriatingly wonderful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here we are, hello there :) The following is based somewhat on roleplays my esteemed writing partner and I have done. There's quite a few oft-used tropes from within this fandom to be found here as well. This may be the first in a series. We're going to try and update it once a week, probably on every Wednesday. This story follows the events of the movie, and we'll do our best to make it match up to them.
> 
> ALSO! Some content warnings for mentions and descriptions of torture, and details about the Holocaust. These warnings should probably be applied to any future chapters told from Erik's POV.
> 
> We don't have a beta, but one of us will be proof-reading every chapter before posting. Apologies in advance for any missed typos or problems.

“I thought I was alone.”  
  
“You’re not alone,” the man in front of him breathed out, bright-eyed and soaked to the bone, this strange man grinning from ear to ear, the voice still echoing in his mind as well as aloud, shouting to be heard over the waves. “Erik, you’re not alone.”  
  
Erik never once thought for a second that there might be others like him. His entire life up until now had consisted of him trying to bring Schmidt and the men associated with him down -- he had never believed, somehow, that anyone out there might be the same as him. _Different._ Erik heaved with the effort of breathing, water sticking to his hair, the two of them bobbing out in the ocean as the ship the other man had been aboard came closer.  
  
That Schmidt had been within his reach, _right in front of him_ , that he’d been inches from the man he’d hunted since he was teenager, and that he’d lost him after all that effort, seemed less important now, if only a little, in the face of this revelation. And the woman with Schmidt, who’d turned to diamond and made him see things, assaulted him with memories that still regularly coloured his nightmares, Erik supposed she must be one of them, too.  
  
He had so many questions-- _how many more, are you still in my head, I don’t want you in my head, what are the others like_ \--but before he could say another word, there was a ladder dropping down next to them, agents hurriedly rushing them up. Charles climbed up first, glancing behind as if to make certain that Erik was falling in line, offering him a hand as they climbed aboard. They barely exchanged a word before being ushered into a cabin and handed dry towels, the very idea of a conversation laughable amidst the commotion.  
  
But then they were left alone to dry off, and Erik promptly got to work doing so. Well, as much as he could without removing his wet suit in front of the other man. That was something he had no intention of doing, not with the number on his arm, or the scars on his back that Schmidt had left him as tokens, reminders of all the pain he’d been exposed to as Schmidt had shaped him into a weapon, a monster. No one else needed to see, to know.  
  
His first question was on the tip of his tongue when Charles spoke.  
  
“Before you ask - no, I’m not in your head.” Erik glanced to him incredulously, and Charles quickly backed up. “Well, not _quite_. I’m not intentionally in your mind at the moment, but you were thinking it so loud I couldn’t help but overhear. I do apologize for that, and I don’t plan on doing it again any time soon.” Despite how much Charles attempted to dry off, the man was still dripping onto the floor. He continued anyway, glancing up at Erik.  
  
“I generally ask for permission beforehand, at least with an intrusion to that extreme. Considering your state, I found it necessary. I _am_ sorry though, please, I do hope you accept my apology.”  
  
 _His state_... Charles had said--thought--that he knew what catching Schmidt meant to Erik. Just how much had Charles seen? He considered asking, then didn’t, he didn’t want to talk about his past, and that was likely where such a question would lead them. Nevermind that he wasn’t sure Charles didn’t rifle through every memory he had like a book.  
  
He wondered how to even go about _not_ thinking too loudly.  
  
“Alright,” he managed, despite still not trusting Charles’ word. “From now on, you can stay out of my mind.” He didn’t give Charles a chance to answer before he plunged onward, half-heartedly pushing the towel against his hair. The wet suit was clinging to him still, and he wondered if they would be given any clothing.  
  
“Why are you and the CIA after Schmidt?” Erik asked. He would understand if it was the Mossad who was hunting him, but he wasn’t aware the American secret service was concerned with Nazi war criminals when they had the KGB to contend with.  
  
“I’ll do my utmost, my friend, to keep out of your thoughts,” Charles responded with a smile, a little late, sitting down to simply drag the towel through his curls, glancing over the man for a moment before looking away. “It’s my gift - er, what makes me like you. If you couldn’t tell, I’m a telepath. But I suppose that isn’t what you asked.”  
  
Erik gave him a look, prompting him to continue. “No, it isn’t.”  
  
“If you’re referring to Sebastian Shaw, he’s suspected of having sway over a government official regarding the decision to place missiles in Turkey. We believe he may also have an additional team of mutants at his side - thus, bringing me aboard. I told them I would assist them in any way possible. From what I gleaned from your mind -- you’re most certainly not on his side, so I feel perfectly safe in trusting you.” Strangely, the man seemed to be telling the truth, at least about this. After all, it wasn’t like they were being carted off and tossed in a jail cell. And if they were after Schmidt--or Sebastian Shaw, as he was apparently calling himself now--than they had information on him, something Erik could use to begin his hunt anew.  
  
“So Shaw is like us, and that’s why the CIA hired you, to fight fire with fire.” It was impossible for Erik not to have noticed; Shaw hadn’t aged a day. And yet Shaw still tortured him, still treated him like his pet monster, killed his mother, as if that didn’t mean anything at all to him. Erik wondered if the others who were with Shaw now, like the diamond woman, had suffered like he did, and simply hadn’t been given the chance to escape, or didn’t want to. He felt a fresh burst of anger at the thought.  
  
His gaze flickered to the floor, then to Charles again. Charles’ eyes shot back to his face, and it was painfully obvious they’d been raking over his body before. Erik had to fight back a smirk; at least Charles Xavier was handsome. Or, well, pretty might be a better word, with the man’s red lips (oh, the things Erik could do with _those_..) and bright, bright blue eyes. Hopeful eyes, Erik thought. One wouldn’t think Charles was insane from his eyes, but the way he was dripping wet from having leapt into the water at night to save a stranger, that gave it away.  
  
“How many more of us are there here?” He asked, hoping that his less than innocent thoughts about Charles from a moment ago weren’t particularly loud. He wasn’t even sure how to tell the difference.  
  
“More than I can really say.” Charles glanced up towards him, somehow not noticing, or at least not acknowledging the less-than-pure thoughts radiating from Erik. “Here, specifically, there’s Raven of course - she’s my sister, or something like it. Her ability is to be able to morph into anyone she so pleases, straight down to their voice, fingerprints, everything about them.” He smiled, before adding, “I did tell you you weren’t alone.”  
  
Erik felt a surge of… something--belonging, inclusion, kinship, maybe. It was silly, really; he knew nothing about either of these people, but they were different, and all united in that difference that set them apart from plain, ordinary people. And there were more out there.  
  
There was a knock at the door, then, and with an assent from Charles, the door opened a crack and a bag was tossed inside before it closed again.  
  
“Good! Good, they’ve brought us both a change of clothes - I’ve guessed at your size, please, do tell me if I was wrong.” Charles separated the articles out, taking the smaller sweatervest and collared shirt for himself, starting to peel himself out of his wet clothes. It was only a moment before he paused, perhaps due to sensing something from the man in front of him. He’d already got his shirt off when he glanced to Erik, starting to fold the wet clothes in the interim. “My apologies, do you mind if I change in here?”  
  
Erik stared at him for only half a second before looking away, moving to take the remaining pants and shirt. So Charles wasn’t particularly modest, and had stolen several less than innocent glances at him. “No, it’s fine,” he said softly, automatically. “I’ll wait.” He looked at the clothing instead, and the size. Of course they fit him. “You ‘guessed’? Are your guesses ever wrong?” He added, dryly.  
  
“Rarely, but they have been before.” Charles continued to undress, though with a modicum of modesty that wasn’t necessarily there before. He turned to face the other direction, which gave Erik the chance to steal another glance before he looked away again. Charles was short; his limbs long and lean. He had the body of an academic, softer and rounder in places, but hardly anything displeasing to look at. Actually, it was very pleasing, but Erik forced himself not to think any more about that.  
  
“Have they? I would think that you can always tell people what they want to hear, or know anything about them.” The thought, of course, still made him uncomfortable, and he can’t quite keep it from his voice.  
  
“You honestly think reading a mind would be like reading a book?” Charles laughed, shaking his head. “My friend, the entire world can be confused. Reading a mind is more like picking out the pieces that make the most sense.”  
  
So that was what Charles had done, then, before diving into the water to save him? And he had, Erik thought begrudgingly, saved him, not that he was going to admit it any time soon. He was prepared, fully, to die if it meant taking Shaw with him. And considering Shaw was like him, that possibility seemed greater now than it ever did before.  
  
“Can you-- Is there more to it, your--” Erik searched for the right word, then settled on Charles’, “--trick, than just digging through people’s minds, and talking in their heads?” He was almost afraid to know the answer, but he ought to. After all, his own ability had more than one part to it.  
  
“Depends on what you mean by ‘ _more to it_ ’,” Charles shrugged on the clothing, buttoning the shirt up to his neck. “I can do a great many things with my power, I simply choose not to unless absolutely necessary. I prefer not to manipulate others unless I absolutely have to for my own protection.”  
  
If Charles could see Erik’s face, he may have seen the brief skepticism there. “That’s kind of you,” he muttered. People were not kind, people with power in particular, not in his experience, not ever. Or not when it mattered, anyway. Still, he knew now that Charles Xavier had the power to do more than just communicate with him telepathically and read his mind. He could do so much worse than that. It was better for Erik not to stay too terribly long.  
  
“Not so sure it’s kind, so much as practising common courtesy.” Charles finished getting dressed quickly, and brought his focus back towards Erik. “You can look now, if you’d like.”  
  
Erik did, suppressing the small pang of disappointment he felt at not taking the chance to appreciate Charles being exposed for a little more. But he crushed that thought almost instantly; just because this man had shown him there were others like him, and had kept him from getting himself killed, it didn’t mean he could be trusted or that Erik ought to get close to him at all.  
  
“Then you can go,” he said quickly, the bit of the annoyance he felt at himself for his attraction coming out in his words. He didn’t let himself feel guilty, though; Charles was a bloody _telepath_ , he probably picked up all of what Erik was thinking, no matter what he said to the contrary.  
  
Charles seemed to be somewhat confused for a moment, hesitating, opening his mouth to speak before shaking his head. “I suppose I could. Did you have any other questions? We’re back to shore, they’re preparing a jet for us to return back to Richmond. You’re, of course, welcome to come along.”  
  
“If we all want the same thing, to kill Schmidt-- Shaw, then I will.” _For now._ “And no, I don’t have more questions.” He did, but they could wait, he wanted out of this wet-suit for now.  
  
Charles smiled for a moment, and Erik thought he still looked a little sad. “We’re certainly out to _stop_ him. Killing him is something we may have to discuss. Careful, Erik, that anger might hurt you the longer you let it build. Not that I would ever say you have no reason to feel it, but you nearly died as a result this evening. I’d rather not have to continuously save your life.” Charles leans forward, brushing his hand over Erik’s shoulder absently, hesitating before heading for the door. “Come with me. I think you’ll find it worth your while.”  
  
***  
  
The jet Charles mentioned was probably the nicest aircraft Erik had ever seen, let alone been aboard. He’d flown plenty of times, though none had been more disconcerting than the first time, when he went back to Europe looking for his first Nazi target. Feeling the metal around him, being encased in it, was almost a comfort if not for the knowledge that he could easily rip the plane open if he got too angry. The drop of several thousand feet for everyone aboard was a great deal worse than how he’d nearly lost control when he was aboard the ship that brought him and other war refugees to New York City in 1945.  
  
He found a seat to himself, near the back of the plane, away from the CIA woman (Moira, he’d caught her name) and the other humans. He only spared Charles and the blonde girl (his sister, Raven, who had fallen asleep in her seat) a glance as he sat down. He thought about pulling Shaw’s coin from his pocket and toying with it, as he usually did, but he had no desire for the questions it would provoke, particularly not when Charles so keenly (and stupidly, Erik thought) disapproved of him killing Shaw. So Charles Xavier was the idealistic, virtuous sort, apparently. The sort that Erik wasn’t sure was even real; he still didn’t trust that Charles wasn’t in his head right now, or that he wouldn’t force Erik to stay the moment Erik decided to go.  
  
Sliding the plastic flap of his window up, Erik glanced outside before he pulled his coat to him, undoing two of the metal buttons with no more than a glance. He held up a hand, let them weave through his fingers. He wasn’t showing off, despite what one or two of the CIA men, who were eyeing him, might’ve thought. It was just an exercise, something he engaged in, it kept the reflexes sharp. It used to require a great deal more effort, and more of the anger he’d learned to channel, but he could do it now without barely any at all.  
  
And he was doing it in front of other people. The notion was so liberating, to not have to be bothered by it, because he was not alone, there were others just like him, other… people with abilities. Mutants, he’d heard Moira use the term while speaking to Charles before they all boarded the plane. So he paid the stares no mind, just looked at the buttons and let himself get lost in his thoughts. Namely about his next move in finding Shaw, but also so he could stamp down on the hopefulness he felt when he thought of there being others like him. No, he had a job to do, and he wasn’t going to lose sight of it.  
  
He looked out the window again, at the tiny lights below, and when he turned back he saw Charles was sitting across from him, nursing a tumbler half-filled with amber liquid and ice. The telepath was still staring at him with that hopeful, searching look - Erik frowned at first, feeling unnecessarily exposed.  
  
“I’m not reading your mind, Erik.”  
  
“How do I know you’re not?”  
  
“You’ll eventually come to trust me, I think?” Charles offered, and Erik didn’t believe that. Nevertheless, Charles gave him a warm smile, taking a sip from his drink, lifting the glass and pointing towards Erik’s hand, still focused intently on the metal buttons weaving in between his fingertips. “ _That_ , my friend, is incredible.”  
  
The words threw Erik just a tiny bit. Schmidt had often said the same thing, right after he’d strapped Erik to the table and cut into him. Erik had long since been skeptical, and suspicious, of men who regarded his ability the way Charles was now. After all, the only other reactions he’d ever gotten were fear or uncertainty. “No, it isn’t,” he muttered, before adding, trying to hide his trepidation: “Moving a submarine, that would’ve been.”  
  
“On the contrary, I think it’s positively groovy.” Charles’ grin widened, and he leaned in to inspect, radiating curiosity at Erik’s power and precisely what he was doing with it. “The fact that you have that much finely tuned control over the smaller pieces of metal means that it’s only a matter of time before bigger objects will be easier for you. At least, I’m fairly certain that’s how your sort of kinesis develops. I haven’t seen anyone like you before.”  
  
Erik’s brows shot up. _Groovy_? _Really_? It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard the term, of course he had, but hearing it used to describe his power or, come to think of it, anything else still seemed utterly silly to him. And it was making it harder for him to take Charles seriously as a threat, at least for the moment. Maybe that was the point. Damn him. Damn him and his smiles and his silly words and his pretty face--  
  
Well, fine. Erik was perhaps being silly himself anyway. “Do you always flatter and compliment every new mutant you meet, like a love struck schoolboy?” He asked, not really seriously.  
  
“I’m hardly flattering you…” Charles paused for a moment, still apparently curious, reaching out to take one of the buttons in hand, as  if Erik’s power would stop him from being able to take it out of it’s orbit.  
  
Erik didn’t react visibly, but he _did_ feel that, feel Charles touching the metal, almost as if he were touching bare skin. It was stronger than it would’ve been, too, because he was already attuned to it, connected to it, moving the buttons around. Erik didn’t stop him from taking one, the others unaffected by the movement.  
  
“Charles --” Erik supposed the use of his first name was alright, Charles was using his, ”-- you seem awed by all this. What _would_ be flattery for you?”  
  
Charles took the button and ran his fingers across it, feeling the metal with light, deft fingers. It was enough to make Erik shudder inwardly, make him wonder just how good Charles was with those hands of his. Seemed he had the potential for quite a bit of talent.  
  
But _Gott_ , Erik rather wished Charles would stop that, stop touching the metal like that. He felt like he was being teased. Damnit, he was sure Charles knew _exactly_ what it was doing to him. Of course, there was a part of him that didn’t want Charles to stop, that couldn’t help but be attracted to him, those hands of his, and everything else, too. Charles Xavier was a mutant, like Erik, and he stood at a doorway to a world where Erik wasn’t alone, a world filled with others like him, where hiding was not necessary. Of course it made him all the more attractive, nevermind that Erik hadn’t slept with anyone--man or woman--in months. Or that Erik had never really _trusted_ other people he’d taken to bed before--he didn’t trust anyone, not really--so that was hardly an obstacle.  
  
But no, there would be no distractions. He forced the desire away, hopefully before Charles got wind of it.  
  
“I truly think this is amazing,” Charles said, voice full of awe. If he had picked up any of Erik’s previous thoughts, he hid it quite well. “I did my thesis on mutation, Erik, do you expect me not to find the variations of it entirely fascinating? I’ve studied this for years. Each mutation I come across, from the asinine to the complex, is something to be lauded and appreciated.”  
  
Oh. Charles was a-- Oh.  
  
Erik’s face turned serious now, and he looked away, even more ashamed of his attraction and his temptation in light of the truth about Charles. “So you… _study_ us? Like a doctor?” _Like_ the doctor? _Like_ him _?_ The thoughts floated to the surface of his mind, unbidden, and he wondered if Charles heard them, but couldn’t bring himself to care if he did.  
  
A part of Erik felt silly for suspecting such things, but Charles worked for the CIA, for humans, just as Schmidt had. And Schmidt was all smiles and encouragement and _here, eat some chocolates_ and offers of false comfort, too, wasn’t he? The buttons fell to the desk between himself and Charles and Erik regarded the telepath with absolute suspicion and mistrust. What if Charles was just the same?  
  
The plane lurched, bounced slightly, once, then twice and Erik’s fingertips dug into the table beneath him, his gaze looking anywhere but at Charles, the metal surrounding them shuddering with his barely suppressed rage and fear. The plane jerked again, enough that the voice of the pilot sounded on the intercom to apologize for the turbulence.  
  
He should never have agreed to go with Charles. Now he was trapped, stuck here, and if he tried to escape--- No. _No, no, no_. He couldn’t let it happen again, couldn’t let himself become a _lab rat_ for the amusement of _humans_ and powerful, traitorous mutants like Charles or Schmidt. Memories came unbidden to the surface, things he tried not to think of, but that haunted him.  
  
Shaw and his awful smile, the white room of instruments, the blood that covered that flea-infested uniform he was forced to wear.  
  
Being strapped to the table, ordered to move something, short tiny cuts marking his back until he managed it. All the times he’d wished he had enough control over it to plunge Shaw’s scalpel into his tormentor’s neck.  
  
The consequences for the time he’d almost done just that.  
  
And his mother, her voice. _Alles ist gut. Alles ist_ \--  
  
Suddenly Charles’ hand was on his,  as if yanking him from his panic and pulling him back to reality. Erik breathed deep, met the telepath’s eyes at last; eyes still so blue and now full of concern. And not just his eyes, too; Charles’ whole face was creased with concern and worry.  
  
“Erik,” he spoke softly, and the whole world seemed to narrow to only him, as if none of the others aboard the small plane were even there. “Erik, I’m not like him, I promise. Please.” As the words were spoken aloud, they echoed in Erik’s mind as well, the voice bright and loud and coming with a wave of calm that Erik knew was not his. And yet, it felt… comforting, calming, warm. A small part of him screamed that it was a trick, but still it was enough for him to find the calm he needed, for the plane to level and continue, the metal no longer shuddering.  
  
Charles squeezed his hand, then, gently, and Erik felt a slight shiver at that touch that he tried very hard to ignore. “It’s alright, my friend. No one is going to hurt you, especially not me. I’d never use my powers to control you.” He smiled again, all warm and reassuring.  
  
Erik didn’t pull his hand away, but still asked: “How do I know you’re not just… tricking me?” His voice shook slightly, quiet, the warmth and calm Charles had projected earlier still strong and lingering.  
  
Charles’ head tilted, and Erik was suddenly surrounded -- no, enveloped by feelings he knew very much did not belong to him. Feelings, then thoughts-- _You’re safe now, Erik, it’s alright. I’m so sorry, for what he did to you, but I would never_ \--and other indescribable things, things Erik couldn’t even quantify. And somehow he knew this was Charles’ mind; so bright and warm, hopeful for the future, hopeful for _Erik_ , too, a man Charles had only just met, who he wanted so much to help. Erik could see this was the kind of man Charles was then; a teacher, a friend, not someone with ulterior motives.  
  
Unless it was all an elaborate lie, but it was enough to allay his worries, the warmth, the invitation to join him and belong, to be with other mutants, was a greater comfort than anything he could remember ever feeling.  
  
It was gone a moment later, Charles’ mind closed again, but that calm, that comfort remained, as if Charles knew how helpful and kind it was. Erik leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and then opening them.  
  
“I’m sorry, Charles,” he muttered, shame filling him. Despite his remaining reservations, he decided he was being paranoid. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, ever trust the CIA--big, shadowy government power, _human_ power--and nor did he think he would trust Charles fully. But he ought to trust that Charles wasn’t like Schmidt.  
  
“It’s alright, my friend. You’ve been through a great deal, I wouldn’t expect you to trust me right away.” His grip loosened on Erik’s hand, but the touch remained.  
  
Erik’s gaze flickered to the glass in front of Charles. “I think I need one of those,” he said softly. Charles apparently didn’t need to read his mind to know he was asking (unless he had), but he got up and went to the small cabinet at the back of the plane, returning a moment later with another glass of scotch for Erik.  
  
After he’d taken a sip of it, Erik looked at Charles again. “So, where did you write that thesis of yours?” He asked, because he was slightly curious, and because it would get his mind off everything else for a little while.  
  
***  
  
They arrived at the CIA facility the very next morning, and all of Erik’s fears, or what remained of them, just seemed to dissolve. It felt silly now to think there was any danger of his experiences with Shaw being repeated here. Erik would never extend his trust to the man in charge here (or any of the other humans, for that matter), but he seemed fairly harmless and innocuous. He also seemed not to be bothered by mutants, not even caring when he discovered he had one working for him all along. The ease with which Charles read Hank McCoy’s mind was concerning to Erik, but he said nothing of it.  
  
Instead he merely stood off to the side and watched the scene unfold, not wanting to really be involved. He did, however, note that Hank was ashamed of his mutation, at least some of the time. Rather like Charles’ sister, Erik thought. He’d had a chance to speak to her on the drive up from the airfield, and it hardly took much to see her shame, considering how she concealed her true colours constantly, even when she didn’t need to.  
  
He didn’t have to wonder why she did it; he’d done it, too, wished he didn’t have these powers even if they likely saved him from the gas chambers or, more likely, a slow death by starvation and forced labour. Still, his powers, and his own failure to use them, had also gotten his mother killed. Perhaps she would’ve survived, even if he hadn’t, if not for what he was. These were things Erik had sometimes thought about, more when he was still Schmidt’s prisoner than now. Over the years he’d cast off all the ‘what ifs’ and settled on his anger, and blaming the person truly responsible for what had happened to him. But still, he knew what it was to feel shame for one’s abilities, and he knew why Raven felt it.  
  
It was too bad, really. The same with Hank, too. Even though they weren’t alone, they knew there were others, were in the company of them now, and still they both wished they could be “normal,” or “look normal,” as if what society, or humans, thought really mattered at all. Erik found he liked this new viewpoint, liked not being alone. It was really too he had to leave, but at least now there would be something for him when he killed Shaw, if he survived.  
  
Later that evening, after he had gotten himself something to eat from the mess, Erik was headed back to his room when he spotted Charles outside his door, evidently waiting for him. They hadn’t spoken since the plane. Oddly, Erik should’ve found Charles annoying, should’ve been repulsed by his hopefulness, his apparent idealism, but he wasn’t. He wouldn’t mind talking more with Charles, now that he’d established that the other man wasn’t going to mind control him and experiment on him. Probably. Charles’ thesis sounded interesting, and all the desire, the attraction he still felt toward the man aside, he held the promise of more pleasant conversations, of friendship, something Erik hadn’t had in such a long time.  
  
Charles glanced up towards him, meeting his gaze, smiling softly. “I’m sorry if I’m coming off too strong. I can be quite forward without realizing it,” he said when Erik stopped near him. He took a step forward. “You’ll have to understand, I’m actually very… intrigued by you, and not simply by your mutation.” It might have been the lighting, but Charles’ face was flushed, brows lifting, and he stepped even closer. Erik took a minute step back, watching him.  
  
“It’s a wonderful thing to learn you aren’t alone, isn’t it, Erik?” He paused in his step, observing, Erik feeling slightly uncomfortable if only for the fact that Charles wasn’t in any way glancing away from him.  
  
Erik nodded, his mouth dry suddenly. He wanted to reach out and touch Charles’ face, his shoulder, anything… And he cursed himself for it.  
  
“And to know you don’t have to hide, because there’s somewhere you can belong now,” Erik replied softly, then hesitated. It was strange to give voice to that thought. “Thank you, Charles.” He supposed, after all this, he ought to say it, because he was going to leave soon. He had all this, and he was going to run from it, go back to his relentless pursuit of the man who had destroyed his life.  
  
And yet, in this moment, standing here in this hallway with this profoundly attractive, insane man a little too close to him, Erik didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay, to belong, to join these other mutants and find and kill Shaw that way.  
  
Of course he knew he wouldn’t, but still, he wanted it, in that moment.  
  
“For the record  -- if you’d like company for the night, my door is open.” Charles finally pulled back, just a bit, moving away slightly. “You could come...have a drink, perhaps. Or if you enjoy chess, we could play a game, perhaps?” The brown-haired man glanced up, a sly curve to his lips. “I’m sure we could figure something… to do.”  
  
Erik stared at him; he was rarely caught off guard, and in hindsight he really ought to have seen this coming, considering all the obvious glances.  
  
But then, he found himself smirking, and in spite of his better judgment, he had already made a decision. “Are you always so charming?” He asked, his tone dry, light. “Or is this not your usual technique?”  
  
“I’m not exactly certain,” Charles ran a hand through his hair, seeming nearly sheepish. “This isn’t normally something I’d do -- asking a man to my room, let alone another mutant for that matter. But you haven’t answered me.” His eyes lifted up through brown lashes, smile widening. “Are you considering my proposition?”  
  
Erik’s eyebrows went up; Charles hadn’t slept with another mutant, and apparently no other men, either? Well. That decided it, weakened the last tiny bit of his resolve. He took glance around, ensuring there was no one nearby--not because he cared what they all thought, but simply to avoid problems--before he quickly checked to make sure there were no security cameras, reaching out in search of any metal. When he was satisfied, he closed the short distance between them and leaned in close to Charles, their faces a mere inches apart.  
  
Charles looked even more breathtaking this close up, where Erik could make out the tiny freckles on his face, and really appreciate the curve of his pretty red lips, or his eyes that he was sure he could get completely lost in if he looked too long. Erik was sure Charles was going to look even more beautiful when he was whining and begging for more. There was no way he could refuse, no way he could not indulge when faced with someone so utterly amazing.  
  
“Lead the way,” he whispered.  
  
Erik Lehnsherr did not form attachments. When this was over, he would leave, but he didn’t care about that now, didn’t think about it.


	2. Chapter 2

_“You’re not alone. Erik, you’re not alone.”_

Charles didn’t meet other mutants often. His perception of them, very rarely, occasionally worked in his favor -- he could tell whenever others were around within a radius, but he never quite felt them close unless they were like him. Psionic mutants had a tendency to be able to search him out, a particular signature that simply matched his own perception. Still, he had rarely ever met another in person, Raven being the exception to the rule.

He had an immediate reaction to Erik’s mind right away. A feeling that this man was in need of guidance, understanding, compassion and care. Trying to show such things while also trying to avoid his gaze lingering up and down that form-fitting wetsuit had been nearly impossible, but he felt his efforts were better utilized on the plane, brief moments of conversation, of marveling at Erik’s powers and calling him “fascinating” far too many times for it to be comfortable.

Charles wasn’t so sure what he expected. The offer for Erik to come back with him had slipped, and he felt it was a gamble in and of itself. Certainly a tease, rather than any particular hard offer, thus immediately covering it up with the offer of a drink or a game of chess. When Erik leaned in close, Charles felt he should have expected that in turn, felt as though he should have seen that coming, but even a telepath could be caught completely unaware.

This was just one of those times.

Despite his slight lack of experience, he made up for it in confidence, giving the other man a smile before sliding a hand around Erik’s waist. “Just up here, then? We’re not very far,” he snuck a glance at Erik, giving out a nervous laugh. “I’m not so certain why, but I wasn’t expecting you to agree so soon.”

“Honestly, Charles, you should be more confident.” Erik didn’t protest the arm around his waist, much to Charles’ delight, and instead just looked down at him as they walked. 

“Don’t say that in front of Raven. According to her, apparently, I’ve got all the confidence that I need.” Charles settled into the comfort of walking side by side with Erik, close to him enough to feel nervous energy vibrating into him. Or perhaps, that was something all of his own. It takes a few moments to walk to the room the facility’s reserved for him, and Charles lead Erik inside, stepping in only to pull away to the mirror. He’s observing himself, vanity notwithstanding, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt and shrugging off the cardigan. “Please, feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

Erik doesn’t leave his side, watching Charles intently when he undoes the top button, as if expecting more than that. He doesn’t touch his own clothing, instead opting to put his hands on Charles’ shoulders and pull him around.

“So you’ve never really done this before?” Erik looked down at him, their faces so close now, one lone finger sliding down Charles’ neck, to where he’d undone that first button. Charles was immediately at attention, eyes lingering on that sharklike smile. “Has asking nearly complete strangers back to your room with you ever worked, Charles?”

Charles couldn’t help but shudder beneath that touch; he shuddered beneath those hands, firmly planted on his shoulders and pulling him into view. He continued glancing up at the other man as he traced a fingertip over the line of his neck. Charles swallowed hard for a moment, heart beating fast, somehow surprised at how close Erik was all of a sudden. The man seemed the stoic, quiet type - the one that Charles would have to pursue relentlessly, suffer endless buffers to his advances, and Charles suddenly found himself admiring how lucky he was to have the wrong impression.

“No, I can’t say that I have.” He murmured, and glanced down to watch that fingertip. “On the contrary, I have invited nearly complete strangers back, but they happened to be co-eds at Oxford. Hardly anything like _this_ situation at all.” Never mind the fact that it rarely happened, even when he had offered the invitation.

“Women?” Erik asked softly, as if it mattered a great deal. The second of Charles’ metal buttons coming undone on its own, then the third, Erik’s finger moving teasingly, slowly along each inch of newly-exposed skin. He leaned further forward still, lips parted ever so slightly, but he doesn’t kiss Charles. Not yet.

Not yet, how can one man be so incredibly frustrating and yielding all at once? He doesn’t say anything regarding the buttons - no matter how much he wants to point out yet another fantastic advantage to Erik’s metal kinesis. Instead, he leaned forward as well, matching the pace with lidded eyes, somehow speaking despite being distracted by the way the man looks at him. “Certainly. Though to be quite honest, a great deal of what was done after they managed to climb the stairs to my apartment was never even sexual in nature. Studying, reading, tutoring. I’ve only done this sort of thing -- “ He breathed out, somehow not even able to stop himself from feeling nervous, his breath shaky and knees week. “ -- a handful of times.”

Erik seemed to consider for half a second, and then he closed the very short distance, pressing their lips together, his mouth open, tongue sliding against Charles’ lips. Charles responded in kind, prepared to be pressed against Erik’s body and have his lips parted as Erik seeks out that seam. He positively melted into it, nerves and anxiety easing as he slid a hand through the back of Erik’s hair, fingers tangling through short strands. He only pulled away to ask a question, to glance up curiously at Erik. 

“How many times have you done this before?” 

The last of the buttons were unbuttoned, giving Erik the opportunity to push his hand inside Charles’ shirt. The question seems to amuse him. “A few,” was all he said. His hand slid up to brush over Charles’ left nipple before squeezing the flesh between his fingers, perhaps to distract him from asking any more questions on the subject.

Charles breathed out slowly, frustrated beyond belief. He suspected there’s more to that to be learned, if Erik’s movements are any indication. Where Charles is slightly fumbling - going on his third-party interpretations of others’ experiences, Erik seemed to know what he’s doing with his fingers, know exactly where his hand is supposed to go, and Charles felt for the first time in ages, annoyingly virginal. He responded in kind with a moan, closing his eyes, leaning in to slide his fingers against Erik’s waist, grinding forward against him.

“A few?” He glanced up, and then kisses him again, trying to glean from surface thoughts exactly what Erik desires, precisely what he wants. He could delve deeper, choosing not to - that’s hardly one way to gain a person’s trust, no matter how much easier it makes trying to please someone. 

Erik’s surface thoughts are a bit fragmented, mostly just words or short sentences -- _So beautiful, Charles_ \-- _His mouth, pretty blue eyes, I wonder how he’d look bent over, or on his knees_ \-- _and I’m the first man who’ll get to have him, to touch him, and the first mutant_ \-- and images came with those thoughts, too, of course. Those surface thoughts radiated Erik’s delight at this. Charles couldn’t help but listen to those, and those alone, comforted by the fact that at the very least, he knew Erik found him attractive.

“Yes, enough,” Erik said, with a certain kind of finality. He glanced down at where Charles’ hand is, his zipper sliding downward without him touching it, before his trousers come undone, too. He takes Charles’ hand, his long fingers warm, pushing it into his pants.

“Go ahead, Charles,” Erik whispered, “...you can touch.” Once more Charles could clearly see that image of him on his knees float to the surface of Erik’s mind, others, too; Erik touching him, taking his cock in his mouth, making him cry out, teasing him until he’s begging for more. Erik had so many options before him, possibly unable to decide exactly which to do first. Charles just hummed absently, not willing to show the fact that he knew more than he’s willing to let on, and pressed his hand against Erik’s cock, a knee sliding between his legs. 

“You don’t mind?” He murmured, asking for his own personal desire to hear those words spoken aloud. Erik obviously wanted him so much, and while Charles couldn’t quite prove it other than the way that Erik slid his hips forward into his hand, he tried to elicit the reactions from him. Stroking a cock wasn’t unfamiliar, if not a little awkward - he wanted his hand to fit perfectly, wanted to touch all the places that Erik found arousing. Charles leaned forward to brush his lips against the other man’s neck, nipping gently, nothing that might bring colour to the skin or leave a mark.

“I’ve done plenty of sexual acts before, for the record.” He felt it necessary to point out, continuing to stroke Erik in the same fashion, leaning up to whisper against Erik’s ear. “Just not with any men.” He licked his lips and glanced over Erik, woefully overdressed for the situation, palming over his chest and curiously teasing at the edge of his shirt. “Not that I’m not educated on the subject, mind you, I’m quite familiar with the finer -- er...details.” 

“Have you?” Erik seemed amused, even smug, though Charles’ movements drew groans from his lips, his breath hitching and his hips rocking forward. He opened his trousers further, shoving his boxers down so Charles could see exactly what he was doing, and lay his eyes on Erik’s half hard erection, finally was able to wrap his fingers around it properly.

“Yes,” Charles seemed almost mildly offended that Erik would even need to ask him, his eyes drawn down to his hand - he shifted, just a bit, just to make it easier to grip Erik in just the right way, to hold him heavy and soft and hard all at once in his hand. It doesn’t take long for Erik to get nice and hard, impressive in size even to Charles - despite the fact he had read up on the matter and read plenty of inappropriate magazines, Erik seemed to be enormous. He bit his lip, stroking down the shaft with one long, slow stroke, taking in it’s full length and curiously wondering how that might...fit, into other places. He let out a slow breath, and returned his gaze to Erik, continuing to move his hand. His other still toyed at the edge of his shirt, skimming beneath the surface and palming at his stomach. 

“Kiss me again.” Charles leaned in, smiling. “I want to taste you.”

Erik seemed more than happy to oblige, dipping his head forward to capture Charles’ lips, this kiss a great deal more urgent, even messy this time around. His tongue dove into Charles’ mouth, as if he could claim him with just that, while his hips still rocked into his touch. Erik’s hand took Charles by the hip and drew him forward, closer, head tilting. He sucked at Charles’ bottom lip before his tongue moved back to explore his mouth some more.

Their lips parted a few moments later, as Charles’ hands pushed up Erik’s turtleneck. “Leave it on,” Erik whispered. “You can still touch me, but my shirt stays on.”

Charles hummed into the kiss until it broke, until Erik told him to keep the shirt on - it seemed hardly fair, but he didn’t push, didn’t do something he’d been asked not to. Instead, Charles pulled him back; pulling them both towards the bed, settling Erik down on the mattress before moving his hand over him again. 

Once he’d sat down, Erik pushed his pants down further still, hand sliding along Charles’ arm. “Has anyone ever put your cock in their mouth, Charles?” He asked, lips parting in a groan at the attention he was still receiving. His hand moved to Charles’ trousers then, sliding the zipper down and opening them with his power, looking at the telepath, as if seeking permission.

It was awkward, but Charles didn’t stop him, didn’t make any effort to slip the trousers back up, just allowed him to do what he wished. At the question, he laughed, somewhat nervously - certainly, there had been women, but asking _that_ of them had never really occurred to him. Most of what he had done thus far had been relatively standard things - mouths were for kissing, and they _made love_ to one another, or something of the sort, but most things were over within a night and if not that, over within a few weeks. Charles’ first love during school had always been his thesis, which made it a bit difficult to explore such things. “No, no one’s ever done that before,” he laughs, and strokes Erik a bit more firmly. “Is that something you’d...like me to do?”

Erik’s head fell back for a moment, another moan pulled from him. Charles loved to know he seemed to be pleasing him, even if Erik didn’t say so directly, didn’t quite mention it out loud.

“ _Gott_ , Charles, _yes_ ,” he murmured, moaning softly again. “But… is that what _you_ want? To have your lips around my cock?” _He’d look so beautiful, with that mouth…_ “Or your cock in my mouth? Which one do you want, Charles?”

Now, wasn’t that a loaded question? His own erection was apparent, obvious through the unbuttoned pair of trousers, though he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted at the moment. He’d never before tried to please someone in that way, much less someone like Erik Lehnsherr, who’s cock was large enough for his hand to only barely be able to close around it. “I think...I think I’d like that.” He bit his lower lip and glanced down. “Both, honestly. I want to taste you, but I wouldn’t mind -- “ Charles cut himself off, slightly embarrassed, feeling it less attractive to stammer over his own words rather than to simply do what he’d like.

He’d read about this. He’d researched this. He’d even heard through other minds, could tell just how lovely Erik thought his mouth would look wrapped around him. That was hardly a reason for him not to do something, and he sank to his knees gracefully on the carpet, tugging gently at Erik’s hips, his red lips glistening as he licked them in preparation. “I want to do everything with you.”

Erik looked down at him with dark eyes, and Charles didn’t even need to skim the surface of his mind to see how much he loved the sight of him like that, on his knees. Erik’s hand slid into his hair, sighing.

“It’s good you’ve taken so long to ask a man back to your room, Charles. You’re beautiful on your knees.” His gaze travelled over Charles’ form, as if appraising, clearly approving, wanting. Charles glanced up towards him, meeting those dark blue eyes, waiting for that approval before continuing. He shifted Erik’s trousers down some, not wanting to overstep his boundaries, just enough to spread the man’s knees so that he can gain better access. Charles leaned forward to lick at him, curling his tongue around the head, taking only a moment to decipher the taste - like skin, and sweat - the faint of something metallic that didn’t quite taste like blood so much as _Erik_ \- and he found himself sinking lower, attempting to take as much in his mouth as he can.

He breathed through his nose, gaining more confidence as he continued, Erik’s moans driving him forward to try to take more down. Erik was certainly gifted in this area, and Charles was nothing but curious, wanting to take on the challenge of swallowing Erik down. It took more than a few tries, his first attempts causing him nearly to gag before pulling away, finding the right way to relax his throat before taking him down even more. After a few attempts, he finally managed to get most of him into his mouth, and he uses his hand in tandem, doing his best to pleasure Erik as much as he possibly could.

“ _Charles_ \--” Erik moaned, head falling back, eyes closed. “You’re -- ” another moan “ -- so good at this, for someone who’s -- ahh! Never had a cock in his mouth before.” He ran his fingers through Charles’ hair, hand shaking just a little bit. 

“You feel so good,” Charles murmured, stroking over his length, letting his lips fall over him again. There’s a certain rhythm he falls into, a certain motion that helps keep his neck from hurting, helps him go down and stroke over him each and every time, has his tongue searching for the places he knows would elicit the most reaction. It’s not as difficult as he thinks, and he’s able to not overthink it - simply try not to use his teeth and use the right amount of suction, the perfect amount of saliva. He hummed as he bobbed up again, sliding his tongue in a circular motion around the head, pressing just underneath, tracing over the circumcision scar before dropping back down again. He only paused whenever he wants to speak again, lifting his head up, continuing to stroke at Erik’s length.

Thankfully, due to Charles’ actions, Erik was moaning rather loudly, lifting up his hips to meet Charles’ mouth, eyes watching him intently. “If you -- _God_ , fuck, _Charles_ \-- keep going, I’m going to come. Do you want that? In your mouth, so you can taste it, swallow it?” He paused, groaning as he did. “Or would -- Would you rather I fuck you now?”

Charles breathed out over the head of Erik’s cock, smiling at him slyly. “I don’t know,” he purred out, and licked just along the base of his cock. “Don’t think you could hold out much longer?” He decided not to mention much more, his own hand falling to his neglected erection. “I think I’d like for you to fuck me, if you don’t mind.”

“If you keep -- using your pretty mouth like that, then no, I won’t.” Erik held Charles’ hair tighter then, pulling him back just a little bit. “But I can hold out, if it means fucking you...” He pushed his pants down, and all the way off, taking his shoes with them but leaving his socks.

Erik stood up, looking down at Charles with the same approval as before, only now he looked even more hungry. His gaze lingered a bit on Charles’ crotch, a smirk coming to his lips. “Undress for me, then get on the bed, on your hands and knees.”

Charles followed instructions, with his hair being held tight and then used in that way, he barely was able to keep back the breathy moan that came with having those eyes on him. He took his shirt off completely, followed by his trousers, his socks, everything he had. Charles swallowed hard, unsure whether or not to face the other man, settling finally for kneeling facing the opposite direction.

He knew what a pretty picture this might make. Charles knew at least that much, knew that he made a lovely sight, curled in over himself, pale skin dusted with freckles - his ass has gotten enough compliments that he’s hardly self-conscious about such things, but somehow, Erik seeing him like this for the first time has his skin flushing, has him eager and wanton, ready for whatever the other man might wish from him.

Charles turned his head back, so he can see Erik sliding his hand over the curve of his ass. “You’re beautiful, Charles. But I’m sure you’ve been told that before.” He stepped back, then. “Stay here, like this, for me.”

And with that, Erik turned, leaving Charles alone on the bed, hard and waiting for what he knew was going to happen. When Erik finally returned, after what seemed like far too long, he was carrying a small tub in his hand, and Charles thought it wonderfully convenient that the CIA facility had such things in their bathrooms.

“Charles,” Erik spoke softly, voice on edge as he dropped the tub onto the bed, “I want you to tell me, if this was part of those finer details you know about.” Erik leaned forward then, drawing his tongue over Charles’ entrance in a long, slow lick, hands spreading him out. Charles nearly sank into the mattress, his arms in front of him collapsing as he whined out a moan, barely able to convey those words aloud. Erik would hear a voice in his head, something perhaps that Charles hadn’t meant to do. 

« _No, it most certainly was not._ » That same voice that Erik had heard in the ocean was being relayed to him now, loud and clear, despite Charles’ face being pressed into the blankets and sheets below him. Erik’s tongue was soft and wet against his tight hole, his toes practically curling with pleasure. He’d understood the logistics of it, certainly, but this -- this was something entirely new, this was something that had his heart skipping a beat and had him writhing against that mouth in desire. 

Erik was methodical in the way that he moved - tongue curling over the outside, drawing in a circle over the sensitive flesh before spearing inward, feeling Charles’ muscles tense and unclench as he spread his cheeks wide, working his way against him. Charles continued to moan in pleasure, his breath catching in his throat as Erik’s tongue searched it’s way inside of him, his breath hot against his testicles and causing him to bury his face into the pillow. Charles moaned unintelligible things, supplying a gentle prod in Erik’s mind just to let him know how good it felt.

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik whispered, warningly, “you said you would stay out of my head.” 

“Mmmn...M’sorry.” Charles moaned out, muffled by the pillow beneath him, his fingers clenching into the sheets. “C-can’t hardly speak like this, I’m sorr- ah! Erik!” His body writhed beneath the man’s movements, his backside pressing back into those hot, slow swipes of Erik’s tongue against sensitive flesh.

And then, just like that, Erik stopped, pulling away to admire his handiwork. “Then turn over,” he said, voice low. 

Charles frowns once he’s stopped, taking a moment to shift his position, to turn over onto his back and face the other man. “It has nothing...to do...with my position,” he sighed aloud, lashes fluttering, face flushed. “And everything to do with you driving me absolutely up a wall, my friend.”

“So much that you can’t even speak coherently, you have to do it mentally instead?” Erik seemed rather amused by this, instead of angry. 

“Telepathy has it’s advantages. Allows me to moan and speak clearly all at the same time,” Charles smarted off.

“I do enjoy your moans…” Erik considered, then said: “So speak in my mind, I just don’t want you rifling around in my head.”

“I’m not poking around, just saying things.” Charles pouted, adjusting on the bed to make himself more comfortable. “I won’t go where I’m not welcome.”

Apparently satisfied, Erik’s eyes raked over him now that he had a different view, lingering slightly on his hard, untouched cock before he picked up the tub of vaseline, snapping it open and slicking up two fingers. “You’re adorable like this, Charles, coming undone for me.”

A frown tugged at Charles’ full red lips. “'Adorable', I don't know if I want to be considered ' _adorable_ ' in the midst of having sex. Can't you say something different? Tell me how terribly sexy--- aah! I am, or maybe, tell me how you want to shag me into the bed -- “ Charles could barely continue speaking whenever Erik’s fingers brushed up against his entrance, one of them slowly pushing into him, cutting off any and all words that Charles had to offer.

“Yes, Charles, you’re _terribly_ sexy, gorgeous, even.” He knelt down next to Charles, his lips touching the curve of his ear. “And I assure you, I’m going to fuck you into the mattress so hard you’ll barely be able to move after I’m done.” A shudder ran down Charles’ spine, Erik’s words simply causing him to shift his hips forward, biting his lower lip as Erik slid those fingers deep inside of him, making it _very_ clear that he was intending on keeping his word. “Does that sound good to you, Charles?” 

The telepath found himself near speechless, lips open, bruised from worrying them between his teeth, and he moaned out loud when Erik’s fingers found that particular spot inside of him. “Y-yes, _god_ yes, Erik, please. Keep talking.”

“Do you want more? Do you want me to spread you open, until you’re nice and loose for me? Want me to give you another finger, Charles, or maybe you need two?” Erik continued to stretch him wide, continued to scissor his fingers inside of him, clearly knowing well enough that Charles needed as much preparation as he could get. Charles on the other hand was beside himself with pleasure, nodding his head, his words in frenzied agreement in Erik’s mind. “Speak out loud.”

“Yes, yes, please. It feels good. More.” Charles finally managed to stammer out, his hips lifting as if to give Erik better access. He couldn’t help but project the pleasure he felt as Erik stretched him open with a third finger, moving them in time with another, stretching Charles out as much as he could despite how tight he was around the width of his fingers. He could only imagine how good that would feel, clenching around his cock -- he could feel the way that Erik enjoyed as he pressed against that spot, causing the smaller man beneath him to moan out loud, murmur filthy little phrases in his head, beg him for more.

“Have you ever fingered yourself like this? Have you ever done this, late at night? Wondered how it might feel to stretch yourself? God, you’re so tight, I can’t imagine you must have done a lot -- and here I was, thinking you knew _details_ about this - sort - of - thing.” With every word, he brushed his fingers up against that spot within Charles, brutally assaulting his prostate as much as he possibly could, obviously enjoying how it made Charles’ cock jump at his stomach, made pre-come bead at the tip of his length. He nearly leaned down to taste, curious as to what Charles’ reaction might be to having another man’s lips wrapped around him. 

But then Charles was babbling inside of his head. « _pleasepleaseplease, Erik, pleasefuckme, I need it, I want it, so badly, please..._ » Charles was practically falling apart just with his fingers, sensitive enough to the point Erik didn’t want to waste time any longer by tormenting the young man beneath him. “I bet I could make you come just from this, couldn’t I, Charles? I bet you’d fall apart if I just kept this up -- ” As if to prove a point, he continued to press against that sensitive gland inside of him, listening to the way Charles moaned and whined every time he pushed. After a moment, he relented, pulling back, unable to wait much longer.

Charles breathed out, took a long, deep breath in and out as he finally was able to gain a bit more control, still feeling somewhat empty as Erik withdrew his fingers. It didn’t last nearly a minute before Erik was climbing onto the bed, spreading Charles’ legs as he moved between them. He heard the sound of the tub being opened, and there was a moment of quiet stillness as Erik slathered himself up, using plenty to make sure that he wouldn’t hurt Charles any more than necessary.

And then - there was a tightness, the warm, solid feeling of Erik’s hips pressing against Charles’ backside, the feeling of him pushing slowly against that resistance. Despite the slight moment of pain, it didn’t take long for him to relax, it didn’t take long for him to feel the head of Erik’s dick slide past, just the tip inside of him. Erik still moved achingly slow, as if giving Charles plenty of opportunity to resist, to say he didn’t want this, to change his mind.

All Charles can do is gently cast it back to him, eyes screwed shut. « _It’s fine -- it’s fine Erik, you aren’t hurting me. More, please? I promise, it doesn’t hurt._ » Partly a lie, because there was a burn that had him heated from the inside out, a stretch, and _goodness_ Erik was larger than he even looked at the beginning, but Charles enjoyed it. Enjoyed being filled, no matter how slow Erik went, no matter that it seemed to take him hours just to press all the way inside. Charles sucked in a breath as Erik slid in all the way to the hilt, stopped only whenever his hips were fully pressed against Charles, his length buried inside him. 

“Y-yes, oh god, _Erik…_ ”

“You’ve never had anything inside you except for fingers, have you, Charles?” Erik growled against his ear, and despite Charles staying outside of his mind, he knew fully well how much Erik was enjoying himself, how tight Charles felt around him, how Erik and himself were only minutes away from coming despite however experienced either of them may or may not be. Charles was embarrassed only slightly, already feeling tensed and wound up, and when Erik _moved_ , Charles cried out.

“It’s so good -- no, no, never had anything, nothing save for you and a finger or two, and f- _fuck_ Erik, I’m close -- !” With every thrust, Erik brought him closer and closer, and Charles nearly felt the room _vibrate_ \- felt the metal in the walls, the metal in his lamp, in the alarm clock just shift with how desperate Erik felt, how much Charles was close and in turn was yanking Erik with him faster and faster towards release. 

It was embarrassing, how quick it was. Charles never quite realized how much it would all be, how being filled entirely and having Erik on top of him, having him thrust up against that spot over, over, over again, feeling the vibrations in the room and even vibrations beneath his back as the mattress coils sang his praises, feeling the way that Erik pounded into him had him coming embarrassingly fast. “ _Erik_!”

And for the first time, his walls came down entirely - he shared it with Erik, everything he felt, his shields down as he came screaming Erik’s name. 

Erik’s thrusts slowed for just a moment then as he gasped, eyes wide, a string of loud surface thoughts suddenly relayed, probably unbidden from him: _Oh god, he’s letting me inside his head again -- feeling all his pleasure; incredible, beautiful, never had anything like this before, I want more_ \-- Erik thrust into him hard again, the initial look of surprise wiped off his face in favour of complete and absolute pleasure as he rode out Charles’ climax, and all the feelings projected in the midst of it all, a telepathic loop between the both of them.

Erik buried his face in Charles’ neck then, shouting as he came hard, his cock buried deep inside Charles. “ _Charles_...” He moaned softly, thrusting through the last of his orgasm. He slumped down on top of Charles then, slipping out of him, still panting against his neck. “You -- that was -- ” Now it was Erik’s turn to be speechless, Charles noted with a hint of satisfaction.

“I’m sorry. I’m not usually that quick.” Charles apologized, feeling Erik slide free, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure run through his veins, shuddering beneath the other man. 

“Should I apologize, too? I’m not normally that quick, but I’m not sorry. You shouldn’t be either.” Erik collapsed beside him, pulling out, never minding the mess between them. For a moment he laid beside Charles, and Charles reveled in the moment of heat against him, breathing out softly as Erik ran a hand through his hair. “Your first time with another man. And a mutant at that.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” Charles closed his eyes. “On both accounts,” he added, and glanced up at Erik for a moment. “Thank you. That was bloody amazing.”

“Mmm, I’m not sure I could tell, with the way you kept whining and screaming my name.” Erik smiled, looking down into his eyes. “But you’re right, it was.”

“Absolutely.” He smiled, and leaned over on his side, meeting Erik’s gaze. “You know...if you’d like, you’re welcome to spend the night. I wouldn’t mind it.”

The words clearly gave Erik pause, his mind awash with uncertainty suddenly. “I don’t usually--” He started, then sat up, despite the brief reluctance Charles felt from him at the action. “I’d rather not,” he said finally. “And your bed is a bit too narrow for the both of us.” Erik slid off the bed then, turning to look at Charles with something between guilt and regret.

“I don’t mind.” Charles glanced towards him - they were certainly laying comfortably on it before, but he didn't push, didn’t insist. The fact that Erik had stayed as long as he had was actually a surprise. Charles frowned when he pulled away, faced away from him and chose not to look him in the eye. Erik had grabbed his pants off the floor, pulling them on.

“You should sleep, Charles. It’s late.”

He almost stopped him. Almost, but instead, he offered up a nervous smile, a hand running through his hair, glancing down towards the mess they’d made. “I likely should get into a shower anyhow. Sleep well, Erik.”

Erik still did not look at him, instead simply fastened his trousers and headed towards the door. “Good night, Charles,” he said simply, just before disappearing into the hall. It took Charles some time to pull himself from the bed, to start the warm water.

It took a shower, and no less than fifteen minutes, with his hair still wet, Charles found himself outside the door to the CIA building, hoping he could somehow stop Erik from leaving.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it appears we're updating more often than once a week xD Thanks for all the kudos, guys, and comments are also greatly appreciated :)
> 
> Warnings for more descriptions of the Holocaust and torture in this chapter.

“I won’t stop you leaving. I could, but I won’t.” Charles said, turning and heading back toward the facility. “Shaw’s got friends, you could do with some!” He called back, before disappearing inside and leaving Erik alone.

Erik did not linger, not even to consider Charles’ words. He turned and headed for the entrance, where the cab he’d called after he’d left Charles’ room was waiting for him. He asked to be taken to the nearest motel, as it was far too late now to go to the airport, and he needed time to go over Shaw’s file.

And yet, once he was settled into the small motel room, it wasn’t Shaw or the file he was thinking of, but Charles.

Erik had thought, rather foolishly in hindsight, that sex with Charles would be an enjoyable experience, but it was so much more than that. It was enough to make him regret not staying the night, to make it more difficult to say no when Charles had asked him to.

It wasn’t just how beautiful Charles had looked, or how prettily he’d moaned, or begged for more, it was the _connection_ , the intimacy of it, with Charles projecting every bit of pleasure he felt, something he had probably never done before - certainly not during sex. Erik always had to keep his power hidden. He still remembered the first time he’d slept with someone, how all the metal had shuddered, and how frightened the girl had been. Frightened enough to run from him. He hadn’t tried it again for a long time after that.

But with Charles… there was no _hiding_ , no pretending. Oh, eventually, there hadn’t been with Magda, either, but he always thought he scared her, even just a little bit, and he still hadn’t stuck around for very long. Hunting Shaw and his associates had always been more important than whatever connection he’d formed with her. He’d severed that attachment years ago.

Erik stood up, tossing the file on the table and headed for the shower. Maybe that would help get his mind off _this_ , off _Charles_.

He sighed as the water hit him, as it rained down over his hair, warmth over his skin. In hindsight, a colder shower might have been more effective. Erik had tended to avoid those since leaving Poland wherever he could. No matter the context, they always reminded him too much of the camps, and the infrequent, freezing showers he’d been allowed to take, a _luxury_ Shaw had afforded him from time to time when the man felt the urge..

He preferred the memories that came with the warmth; drawn back into the memory of Charles on his knees, red lips wrapped around Erik’s cock. And it only took the mere thought of that -- of Charles moaning under him, saying such filthy things, things one would never expect a refined, proper, professor to say -- to get Erik hard all over again. He closed his eyes, briefly thought about fighting it, before his fingers dropped down to close around the length of his cock. He’d never wanted more, never had gotten excited like this all over again - never so quickly before this, before _Charles_ and his infuriatingly red lips, his sweet smile. He thought, as his hand jerked along the length of his cock, that if he’d stayed, curled up against Charles, they’d be doing this again right now.

But would Charles want more? It had only been an hour or so, but Erik thought he probably would; such a breathless, desperate little thing. He closed his eyes and simply let his mind wander, just knowing that Charles would press against him, whispering that Erik should fuck him again. And instead of granting his request, Erik would slide down him, take his cock in his mouth, just to see Charles’ surprise at this new experience, to hear him cry out his name. Erik loved the sound of his name on Charles’ lips. Charles had the perfect mouth, and when he murmured such dirty things in that prim, proper accent of his, it drove Erik nearly insane.

Erik would have to stop when Charles was right on the edge, keep him right at that point where he was desperate and begging to come, fingers fisting in the sheets. He’d have to pause for only a minute before he flipped him over onto his stomach and fucked him hard again, pressing him hard into the mattress, really making it so he couldn’t walk properly tomorrow. He’d whisper in Charles’ ear that he better not stop talking, not if he wanted this to continue. Maybe he’d tell Charles not to come until he was given permission. Charles followed orders so well, so perfectly.

Never mind that he would really come undone once Charles did come. The last time, he’d projected his thoughts and feelings straight into Erik, making all of those wanton, desperate cries become apparent. Erik hoped, a small part of him at least -- maybe he’d do that the whole time. It’d been enough to send Erik over the edge, right after Charles. He still remembered how wonderful that was, and thinking of it now --

Erik came with a shout, his hand stroking his cock twice more, quickly, before he stopped, swaying, putting out a hand against the tile. The water wasn’t as warm as it was when he’d started. He breathed deep, and all at once a sense of annoyance and frustration overwhelmed him.

Damnit. Damn Charles Xavier and whatever spell he’d cast on him. Bloody telepath. Erik should’ve had more self control than this.

He held onto that feeling as he finished cleaning himself off, then got out of the shower, dried and donned the complementary motel robe. Afterwards, he laid on the bed and paged through Shaw’s file, Charles much farther from his thoughts now. Getting himself off in the shower had probably helped immensely with that.

Sebastian Shaw’s CIA file was at once informative and also rather disappointing. It contained no leads, or new information about where he might be going next in that damn submarine of his. And apart from his working with the Russians, while also having connections and leverage in America, there was no information about why he was doing all this, about his MO. Erik didn’t care so much about that, though, except that it might help find him. Unless Shaw was planning to harm other mutants the way he’d hurt Erik, _that_ was something he cared about, Erik realized. And that was why he had to find him sooner rather than later. It was too bad there was nothing here to aid his doing that.

On the other hand, there _was_ information about the man himself, and his mutation. Shaw was, for all intents and purposes, ageless. Not necessarily immortal (he’d been born long before Erik, though), but he could essentially stay alive forever so long as he absorbed energy on a consistent basis.

There were pictures, too, snapshots of Shaw when he was still Klaus Schmidt, images of him in his suit with his Nazi pin, others of him in a lab coat. At Auschwitz. An involuntary shudder went through Erik, chilling him to the bone when he saw a picture, probably something candid taken by one of the guards, of Shaw walking across the camp grounds with guards in tow, and a dark haired boy dressed in prisoner’s garb with them.

Erik couldn’t help but crush the photograph in his hand then, shoving the file away at the same time.

Never was he more sure of decision to leave than in that moment. And maybe, if he had any chance of not dying in the process, maybe he could go back to Charles once Shaw was dead. But he probably wouldn’t survive it, not now that he knew just how powerful Shaw was, and what his power was.

Tomorrow he would return to Miami to see what sort of information he could gather. Surely he could pick up the trail again.

When he went to sleep, the nightmares returned.

Schmidt patted him on the shoulder, encouraged him to make friends as he sent Erik to work in the Sonderkommando, disposing the bodies from the gas chambers in the ovens. Even though he was only sixteen, Erik knew why Shaw wanted him to make friends, and he resolutely refused to do it, refused to give Shaw ammunition to use against him, more people to care about.

He’d carried his mother’s corpse to the ovens, in tears the whole way. There’d been no proper goodbye, she was dead because he failed, and he promised himself it wouldn’t happen again.

Except it did.

Shaw picked out prisoners at random, people Erik knew, and hurt them to provoke a reaction. He hurt Erik, too, he always came back to that, always stood over him and _smiled_ , praised him, said Erik should be grateful to him for unlocking his gift.

There was the people Shaw made him kill, just like he’d killed those guards after Shaw shot his mother. There was Erik’s first escape attempt, and the consequences, the ten prisoners (innocent, all of them Jewish) that Shaw had picked out to go to the gallows in retribution for Erik’s attempt to get away. Things only got worse after that.

Erik didn’t think he would ever forget their faces, or the faces of the women, the men, the _children_ he helped carry to the ovens, or the plumes of smoke he saw every time the guards dragged him to see Shaw, his will to resist being chipped away with every visit.

He had hoped he would just die, tried once to provoke one of the guards into shooting him. They shot others so easily, for such simple, stupid things. Why not him, too?

Because he was Shaw’s pet monster. And every time he stepped out of line, Shaw only made the pain worse.

 _Erik, my little Erik, I’m sorry, but there’s no escape for you. This is all for you, you’re going to be so strong, so wonderful, when I’ve finished with you._ Shaw had whispered, before cutting into him again.

Erik screamed.

He was still screaming when he woke up. Tears stung his eyes, and he slumped back onto the bed, eyes closing as he clutched at the quilt, as if it wasn’t enough to keep him warm, like the threadbare blanket he’d had in his cell at Auschwitz, kept apart from the other prisoners. Alone. He’d been alone, then, and he was alone now, in his pursuit of Sebastian Shaw.

Only… he wasn’t. Not anymore.

Charles. Others like him. It’s not just me you’re walking away from. Here you have a chance to be part of something bigger than yourself. Shaw’s got friends, you could do with some.

Charles was right, and Erik knew it then. He would stand a better chance of killing Shaw, of getting the justice he’d been chasing for years, if he did it standing shoulder to shoulder with his fellow mutants. He wasn’t going back to be with Charles intimately, that would not happen again, but he needed him, his sister Raven, Hank McCoy and any other mutants who joined them.

The next morning Erik didn’t go to the airport, he took a cab back to the CIA facility, back to Charles and Hank McCoy’s machine that could find mutants.

Erik had mentally prepared himself for seeing Charles again, so when he entered the head CIA man’s office, he was ready for those bright blue eyes that looked at him, ready to shove aside the memories of the night before. Charles’ elation that he’d come back (“Erik! You decided to stay.”) and the look he got along with it was something he was less prepared for. He couldn’t help but wonder if Charles would’ve asked for a kiss if they were alone, or would’ve expected one.

But he managed, with some difficulty, to shove those thoughts down, too. Charles probably still saw them, but Erik wasn’t going to let his worry over that rule him.

He was not, however, sure what made him think suggesting he and Charles go find the mutants alone would be a good idea. But strategically it was the only option he would accept. He knew how isolated the other mutants were; the way America was at the moment -- fearful and paranoid about anything or anyone _different_ from their imposed “normal” -- only made it worse, would probably make them want to hide more. They needed to be approached delicately, by their own kind. And even then, Erik suspected many of them would still refuse to come and work for the CIA. At least they would learn they weren’t alone.

Charles used Hank’s Cerebro machine for three days in a row, and each day Erik and Raven were there with him. Erik suspected Raven was mostly there so she could be thoroughly impressed by Hank’s machine and flatter him. It was almost amusing how awkward he became around her. Of course, Erik had to wonder if his words to her had given her any pause, or made him reconsider her shame even in the slightest. He wasn’t going to give up on that, either; she had just as much potential for greatness as any of them did.

Meanwhile, Erik wasn’t awkward around Charles. No, but he still couldn’t stop _looking_ at him. Charles didn’t help matters in this regard, either, with his little smirks that seemed to indicate how knowing he was. Charles probably knew how Erik thought of wanting to grab him the moment they were alone, shove him into his room and just fuck him hard over the nearest surface, while all the metal around shuddered and Charles projected every ounce of pleasure he felt each time Erik filled him.

Luckily, Charles didn’t ask him about any of this. Just because Erik wanted more didn’t mean it was a good idea.

On the third night, though, Erik thought the telepath looked more tired than usual as he had slumped against the rail, pushing Cerebro off his head. It was an incredible workout, Erik thought, amplifying his power to an insane degree, and while Charles was clearly talented the machine enhanced his abilities -- it must’ve taken more strength to be able to search through literally thousands of minds all at once. 

“Charles,” Erik said softly, falling into step beside Charles as they re-entered the facility, “are you alright?” He looked down at the other man, and a sense of worry settled over him. A surprising sense of worry, actually, but Erik told himself it was because Charles was invaluable in the search for Shaw, and not out of any desire to be with him to see where things might go, or to even be his friend.

“Perfectly fine, my friend.” Charles glanced up at him, lips curving up into that smile that continuously made Erik’s heart skip a beat. “Just a little worn, I think. We’ve got quite the list compiled, I think we’ve got enough names to go searching for them.”

“You don’t look perfectly fine; but if our list is complete, then you don’t need to use that machine again,” Erik tried not to sound too stern, or to let his worry show too much. He really did think Charles was being a sort of voluntary lab rat every time he used Cerebro and, adorable or not (he really was), it bothered him more than a little, particularly because the whole thing was still being run by the CIA, even if it was Hank’s invention.

He glanced back, stiffening slightly when he saw that Hank and Raven were nowhere in sight now. He and Charles were alone.

“It’s really not so bad. Sort of like exercising muscles and straining them in a way I wouldn’t normally. Like when you attempted to lift the submarine in the water - it takes a lot out of you, having your powers amplified like that.” Charles seemed to not mind them being alone, going so far as to lean in just a bit closer, his arms folded across his chest. “I’ve spoken to McTaggart about the project, she’s cleared us to leave tomorrow. We’ll start here in the Northeast and work our way through.” 

“Good,” Erik managed, looking down at Charles. God, he was such a distraction, and his closeness really wasn’t helping all the fantasies Erik had developed about him since they’d had sex.

“We could both use some rest beforehand.” Charles dropped his gaze down, then slid his hands down in his pockets. “I don’t suppose you’d like to play a game or two before we leave?”

A game? Oh. Right. Chess. They hadn’t yet done that, although that was something else that Erik could find attractive about Charles, something else they could share. He was tempted to say yes, but he wasn’t sure he should, not with so much temptation. He cursed Charles inwardly again, and the spell he’d apparently put on him.

“Charles,” Erik took a step away from him then. “What we did, what happened a few days ago, it isn’t going to happen again. I want you to know that.” Even though they were about to spend months alone on the road together. But damn it all, Erik would exercise self control if it was the last thing he did. They needed to get this over with, find the mutants, and then he could get on with finding and killing Shaw.

For a moment, Charles looked mildly upset. His lips pulled down at the corners, brows lifting somewhat, hands digging deeper into his pockets. “I’m fairly certain, Erik, that all I asked for was a game of chess. I wasn’t…. propositioning you.”

Damnit, that look Charles gave him almost made Erik want to change his mind, to say to hell with it and see where this thing might lead. But that was not a good idea, not with a man who probably wanted him to give up his crusade.

“I know, but that could turn into something else, or you could try and make it something,” he said, his words stiff. It was the first time Charles had asked him, though, the first opportunity Erik had given him. He glanced away, then looked at him again. “We should probably just go to bed,” he added, hoping there was no regret in his voice or on the surface of his mind. Even as a friend, Charles could distract him from his goal, could dissuade him. 

Erik would not allow that. No distractions, no attachments, none of that until Shaw was dead, if Erik managed to survive killing him.

“You’ve made it clear you’re not interested. I understand, Erik. I’m not -- I wasn’t going to -- “ Charles faltered slightly, gaze dropping to the ground again. “I understand that what we did before was under pretenses of you leaving and never seeing me again. I don’t expect you to rescind on that.” He paused, seemingly parsing through his own emotions, his own feelings and his own frustrations regarding the situation. “Going with me to meet the other mutants, is that going to be an issue as well?”

“No,” Erik answered at once, wanting so badly to just get out of this hallway, and away from the hurt feelings he’d clearly inflicted on this man. “No, it isn’t. I wouldn’t have suggested we go together if I thought it would. But we’re not--” He was going to say friends, but that was just too harsh, he couldn’t do that. 

“We’re not - anything, is what you mean.” Charles looked more than a little upset now, his lips pressed tightly together, blue eyes lifting to meet Erik’s gaze. “You don’t want me distracting you from your cause.”

Either Charles was very good at reading him already, or Erik had been thinking too loudly again. Regardless, it was incredibly disconcerting. And Erik couldn’t stand to look at him anymore, not when he looked like that. It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, but Erik had never felt so sorry for it, so taken aback by those feelings, or still so attracted to the person he’d slept with. His other one night stands (with the exception of Magda) had been for the simple satisfaction of his own needs. He’d wanted Charles to be the same, but he couldn’t make it that, not when they were both mutants, and when Charles made the whole affair that much more intimate, when Charles had changed his life the second he walked into it.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” he muttered, then turned and walked away, trying to fight off the guilt that had settled in the pit of his stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

Charles knew by now that despite his mutation, he could not make anyone do something they refused on, not without crossing a boundary he wouldn’t cross. After their earlier conversation he decided not to press the matter. Erik was his own entity, his own being -- Erik had his own motivations for going along with him on this, and Charles knew enough by now that he couldn’t dwell on a night that meant nothing.

So, he pushed forward. The next day he didn’t speak of it, and neither did Erik. They had been given a car by the CIA to use as they drove up, Erik in the front seat beside him using their list and coordinates to know exactly where to go. The recruitment was open-ended - they had well over forty mutants of all ages and all sorts on their list. They had places to go, things to do, and it was a perfectly fine distraction from everything that had happened.

Never mind that Charles had -- glimpses, into Erik’s mind. Nothing intentional, he’d made a promise and he was bound to keep his promises. Still, he couldn’t help but overhear words, clips, phrases -- and he didn’t have to be a telepath to sometimes feel the other man’s eyes on him, tracing over the outline of his suit. The strip club where Angel worked was a seedy little thing, and Charles drank a bit much as well as Erik, and as they slipped into the champagne room they sat on the bed together, observing the show.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Charles was focused on the heat of Erik’s body against his, the initial excitement, and Charles couldn’t help but wonder if the arousal came from the scantily clad woman with dragonfly wings or the simple proximity of how close they were. He’d smiled, poked fun at Erik in a private joke to make himself - and Angel - feel more comfortable, more at ease with their situation. She agreed to come with them, readily, their first recruited mutant, and Charles felt rather mixed emotions at how entirely _happy_ Erik seemed with the situation.

It was easy to rationalize it, however. Erik had never known another mutant until he had met Charles; it was only natural that when he would meet another his attentions would be focused elsewhere. The annoyance he felt was anything but jealousy, and more so a reflection of… something else that he couldn’t quite verbalize, couldn’t quite put his finger on. Erik had only slept with him because of his mutation. Because Charles was something _new_ , something bright and shiny. Charles simply remained silent in the car, glad that his travel companion didn’t have the ability to pull inside of his mind.

They weren’t even friends, Erik had made that clear. Charles settled for quiet acquaintances. They traded words about their mutations, spoke of mutant rights and Erik’s past, the tragedies that befell him. Charles knew a surface level of what Shaw had done to him, but as Erik spoke more, it became more and more obvious why he was such an extremist as far as killing Shaw was concerned. There weren’t many details given, but the picture Charles got, along with what he’d seen in Erik’s mind, it was enough to horrify him. When Erik had spoken about being willing to die for his cause, Charles settled a hand on his forearm, gently.

Erik had stiffened, immediately, pulling his arm away. Charles had seen that as a sign to pull back, to pull back entirely, keeping his hands to himself and glancing away from him with a murmured apology. 

So they weren’t friends. They shared hotel rooms, Charles with his inconsistent lack of modesty and Erik with somewhat of an incredible amount of it. Charles had never even seen him with his shirt fully off, had never seen him be comfortable enough with Charles to change in the room itself. Charles found himself watching on more than one occasion, needing to force himself to look away from him when the atmosphere grew tense, when Erik noticed his gaze. 

After their first failure, they commiserated in the motel bar together. Charles bought a round for the both of them, a dark German stout for Erik and a scotch on the rocks for himself. The mutant in question had asked them to leave, had told them that she wasn’t a “freak” like the both of them, that she was perfectly fine and normal and natural and how _dare_ they even implicate otherwise. She apparently hadn’t noticed the way that her houseplants had a tendency to grow and heighten when she was angry, how the leaves blossomed with her emotions, and with her sadness they shed off in brown, dead matter. 

Erik had pointed it out, and then she threw a paperweight at his head. Thank goodness the base had been made of aluminium. 

They had another spirited debate about the acceptance of mutation over their drinks - two scotches in, and Charles was mildly intoxicated, much less prim and proper than normal. He expressed himself more - hands flailing, lips red and cheeks flushed as they spoke. 

“Honestly, Erik, if she can’t accept who she is, we can hardly force her to. It’s a gift, what she has, the ability for organic matter to be accelerated, to grow and shift. Plant cells respond to her now, certainly, but what if she doesn’t control it? What if it grows, develops? What if she can make her children age rapidly without even thinking?” Charles slurred his words - an academic at heart, certainly, but currently a drunk. “It’s a terribly _sad_ situation, yes! Awful, awful, but we could _help_ with that -- she simply has to want the assistance from us. I could help her learn to control it, I think.”

“We could, yes, and I want to see her accept herself as much as you do. But --” Erik leaned forward slightly, and he wasn’t nearly as drunk as Charles was, “-- you know _why_ she threw us out, and denied it so vehemently, don’t you?” He waved a hand at the people around them. “Do you think any one of them would accept her? She’s probably frightened of herself, the things she can do, and what anyone else would do if they found out.”

He leaned back again, both his hands on the table as he took a sip of his drink, his eyes fixed quite steadily on Charles. “We’re going to find many more like her, Charles; isolated and ashamed, because they’re not ‘normal’.”

“We don’t mind it though! If she could just see that we’re trying to be compassionate, if she could just _accept_ who she is, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, now would it?” Charles knocked back the rest of his drink before ordering another. There was no need for him to hold back - they were done for the rest of the day, and currently sitting in the bar of the hotel they were staying at. “She’s even one of the lucky ones! No one can tell she’s a mutant by looking at her, any more than they can tell you or I have a mutation! If she carried a physical gift, that would be one thing -- but she’s perfectly fine on the outside -- “ He met Erik’s gaze for a moment, blue on blue, drunkenly coming to a realization.

“ -- maybe that's why she refuses to accept it.” He shook his head vehemently, and then glanced at Erik. “Maybe that’s why. Erik, we have to do something.”

“What do you propose, then, Charles? We’re here on behalf of the CIA, of _humans_. If we told her that, she’d want to come with us even less.”

“Humanity has nothing to do with it, Erik!” Charles sloshed the tumbler filled with ice towards him. “It has everything to do with us being … _different_. So many of these that we’re meeting are only just realizing their abilities, are only just able to hone them themselves. Could you imagine how different it would be if they had guidance?” He glances down at his empty glass and frowns. “We could do so much more outside of just the CIA. We could help them.” He pauses to set the glass aside, looking up at Erik with a smile. 

“I could teach them.”

Erik seemed to consider this, then: “And how are you going to do that, with your government friends looking over your shoulder?”

“I don’t know.” Charles looked up at him, frowning. “I can only do so much from here. We’re not gathering them to be able to hone their abilities and skills persay, but it certainly could be part of the job description. The CIA isn’t going to be very happy with someone who could be a danger to themselves or anyone else.” He took the new drink he ordered with a smile towards the waitress, and thanked her with a gentle tap to her arm, smiling wide and being unable to keep from making a comment about her lovely blonde hair. “ -- it’s a recessive gene, you’re growing to be somewhat rare, you see, an exquisite example of your genetics being _very_ favorable to you. Fair hair has always been a lovely, admirable trait. And with it being as curly as it is…” 

Her reaction was to smile sympathetically and walk away.

Charles’ face fell slightly, but perked a bit back up as he went back to the conversation with Erik. “She’s a bit of an open book. Doesn’t want to flirt with anyone on the clock, you see, though she _does_ \-- “ He looked at her. “ -- find me terribly attractive and awful charming, and would like to see what I look like with my pants off.” Charles looked incredibly amused, a tad bit smug, drinking his scotch down and smiling towards Erik.

Erik’s face was an expressionless mask, but the jealousy he felt was rather easily read. That and the way he tried to push it aside -- _You told him you were done, that you weren’t anything. He ought to sleep with her._ “Then you should wait here until she’s done, and proposition her.” There was an undercurrent of annoyance, bitterness, and yes, jealousy in Erik’s voice, much as he obviously wished there wasn’t. Erik chugged the rest of the beer, finishing it off in one swallow.

“Why would I do something like that?” Charles sipped his drink, looking awfully amused. “I have perfectly lovely company right in front of me.” It was a shame - he knew very well the annoyance was plain to see from Erik’s perspective, but he _did_ have a promise to uphold and he rather didn’t care to make it seem like he’d read the other man. 

Erik’s hands slid back, as if he were afraid Charles was going to touch him again. But he didn’t narrow his eyes, or become combative, as one might expect him to, as he always did before. “Charles, can you even stand without falling down?”

“Think so.” Charles looked at his glass, laughing softly. “It’s really pointless, though, it isn’t as though I have a room to take her back to. A bit inappropriate to keep you out simply so I can have a bit of fun. Terribly unprofessional…” « _Besides. You would be jealous._ »

This time Erik did glare, a move to hide the very faint flush that settled onto his cheeks. He pushed his chair back, getting to his feet rather quickly. He waved the waitress over, tossing some money on the table, his mind awash with embarrassment and rage, more at himself than Charles. _You idiot, now he knows. He probably always knew. Told him to stay out of my head, I don’t care if he’s drunk or not.._

“I’m going back to the room,” Erik said icily, his glare still steady. “You can do whatever you want.” _Maybe tomorrow he’ll be too hungover to be awake in the car_. He turned and left the bar.

Charles knew for a fact at that icy stare, that rushed exit - even through his own intoxication, could easily tell he had touched a nerve. It wasn’t appropriate to follow him immediately - he paid his tab, sat a few moments, had a conversation with the blonde waitress again without being quite as forward, and after a good amount of time passed, went up the stairs again. They were going to Boston the next day, they’d be stuck in the car for at least several hours until then. 

He didn’t wake the other man when he entered the room, didn’t bother to press the situation. He knew very well that what he had done had crossed some sort of boundary. They weren’t friends, this was not a pleasure cruise. Just for work, and Erik had been right, walking had been somewhat of a challenge as he moved around the hotel room to get ready for bed. He had been right whenever he’d said before that this was terribly unprofessional, and he stayed awake for a short time after, listening to the sound of the other man sleeping, his breathing even and relaxed. There was nothing to be concerned with.

***

The next morning, Charles didn’t wake up until the last moment before checking out. Erik had tapped him, gruffly, telling him they needed to be out of the room in less than twenty minutes before the room was turned over. Charles had been embarrassed, had attempted to apologize, but before the conversation had progressed in any particular way, Erik had taken their bags to the car without saying a word.

The unfortunate part about being a telepath was the curiosity, the idea that if he wanted, he really could look inside Erik’s mind. He could see past those defenses, could see how Erik thought of him, why Erik was holding himself back, why _any_ of this could be considered wrong. He could see why Erik had slept with him in the first place, what about Charles had driven him to wanting to be with him. Charles was out and looking remarkably well put together for the headache he suffered after three or four glasses of scotch.

Traffic through the city made the usual seven hour drive last so much longer - by the time they’d managed to get outside of the middle of it, the clock read nearly nine in the evening. Charles glanced at Erik, trying hard not to look apologetic. Erik was pretending this had never happened, there was no reason why Charles couldn’t do the same. “It’s starting to get late. Would you like me to drive?”

“No, it’s fine. We should find a hotel soon.” Erik actually met his eyes for longer than a few seconds for the first time today. “How do you feel, Charles? You were very hungover this morning.”

“I’m feeling fine, despite being a bit cold. Hard to believe it’s below freezing in April, but I suppose stranger things have happened.” He’s grateful for the fact that Erik seemed to actually want to speak to him for a moment, hoping this meant that the awkwardness between them could be sorted out, passed by. “I’m sorry for my behavior last night.”

Erik leaned forward, twisting one of the knobs to turn up the heat inside the car. He frowned the second Charles brought up the night before. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. Just stay out of my head from now on, and maybe you shouldn’t drink so much,” Erik’s voice was colder than before, his eyes firmly on the road. “Have you always done that?” He added, a little less coldly, though he didn’t look at Charles.

“Done what?” Charles glanced outside, starting to see snowflakes dotting the sky, illuminated by street lamps. “Drink so much, or hear you without meaning to?”

Erik pointedly ignored the second part of Charles’ statement. “Have you always had so much to drink that you had to sleep it off the next day?”

“Oh, well - yes. On occasion. Drinking was the only way I managed to get through finals week during graduate school.” Charles teased, glancing ahead as the snow started falling a bit faster. Just what they needed - they were at least two hours away from their destination. The last thing they needed was a storm to set them back even further. “I don’t drink that much, normally. Only under intense pressure or stress.”

Erik leaned forward, the snow was becoming thicker now. “What did you have to be stressed about, Charles? Was that mutant’s refusal to come with us such a terrible thing for you? Did Moira give you a recruiting quota?”

“I thought I could help her.” Charles frowned, watching the snow start to accumulate on the ground, and on the highway ahead of them. It was only getting worse. “I just...hoped that she could be able to accept herself, at least with us. That she would realize that she wasn’t alone.”

Erik waited only a few more moments, then took the nearest exit off the highway. “We have to stop for tonight,” he said.

“Probably for the best. We’ve been driving for ages, and this seems like it’s only getting worse.” Charles nodded his agreement.

“And maybe one day you can help her,” Erik met Charles’ eyes again, “but I wouldn’t dwell on it too much. Some of them are going to feel safer being left alone.” Charles couldn’t help but detect a hint of sadness in his voice.

He stared out the window again, sighing. “Perhaps I just need to get used to the feeling of being rejected.”

“Apparently you do,” Erik muttered, then spoke a bit louder: “Why, does no one ever say no to Charles Xavier? Have you just drifted through life always getting whatever you want?”

Charles glanced to him for a moment, lips parted as if he were going to give the man a catty response in turn, but instead turned away once more. “I may not have faced what you have in your life, Erik. But to assume that I’ve dealt with no hardships in my life would be incorrect.”

Erik frowned at once, guilt more than a little evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Charles. I shouldn’t have said that.” He turned the car off the main road, then, following a sign for a motel up ahead.

“It’s fine.” Charles shook it off quickly, not quite as bothered by it as he could have been. So many others had always assumed the affluent background Charles Xavier came from meant that his life had been well off - that he had paid his way through getting a high GPA or whatever other successes he could buy with his trust fund. He’d grown used to it. Whenever Erik drove into the parking lot of the motel, there was already a thick layer of snow -- and it showed no sign of stopping. 

***

Once they had received their keys and gotten their things inside, Charles rubbed his arms, immediately going to the thermostat to warm things a bit. Of course, as soon as he turned the knob, the lights went dead, leaving them alone in the dark and the cold. Charles glanced over towards Erik, frowning. “Well that...is just the perfect ending to a perfect day, now isn’t it?”

“Spectacular,” Erik said dryly. He went to the window, peeking outside. “I would say they should return half our money, but the lights are off in the whole town.”

“Suppose it could hardly be helped. We’ve just got to wait for the power to come back on.” Charles opened his bag, pulling an additional sweater over himself. “There’s really not much else to do. Climb under the covers, perhaps, it’s too cold to really do anything else.” 

“That will probably take all night.” Erik went through his bag for an extra shirt, a much looser one, which he pulled on. He took off his shoes and went to the empty bed, drawing back the covers.

“You know…” Charles paused for a moment, unsure how to approach the very idea. Erik had been so angry at him last night that he wasn’t sure this was at all a good idea. “It would be a lot warmer if we shared. My bed’s farther away from the window. It won’t be as cold, and with the both of us under the covers, would probably warm up quickly.”

If Erik had any objections to this, he didn’t voice them, and nor could Charles see his face in the dark room in order to discern what he was thinking without actually looking. Erik grabbed the quilt from his bed, going over to Charles’ then. “Which side do you want?”

Charles looked a little surprised by the very idea that Erik was amenable to the situation. “I’ll just...take this side here by the wall. You always wake up better with the alarm, after all. But it honestly doesn’t matter.” It would be warmer over all, though he had to admit his heart skipped a beat as Erik strode over to his bed, climbing under the covers beside him.

He wasn’t going to sleep tonight. Even though Erik was facing away from him, Charles was at his back, feeling the way the man’s breath moved through him, sighing as he moved just slightly closer.

“And you always sleep in late. Even when you’re not hungover. Did you never have any morning classes at Oxford?” Erik asked him, glancing over his shoulder. He made no move to close the distance between them.

“Never really was a morning person. I’m absolutely dreadful before I’ve had my first cup of tea in the morning.” Charles couldn’t fathom going to sleep like this. Perhaps if the nights were reversed, if tonight had been the night he’d had four drinks and passed out beside the other man, perhaps having an excuse to cuddle up against Erik would help. Instead he just sighed, moved in slightly closer, wanting to be close for more than just one reason. “This…. feels nice. Almost as though the heat were on. Erik, are you sure this is okay with you?”

Erik stiffened slightly at the closeness, but he made no move to get away, or to distance himself. “It’s fine,” he said, stiffly. “But… this doesn’t mean anything, Charles. I just don’t want to catch a cold, and I don’t want you to, either.”

“I know it doesn’t mean anything.” Charles murmured, and then glanced up at Erik, despite the other man’s back being turned to him. “You’ve made that crystal clear, my friend, that this means absolutely nothing to you. If that’s the case, then why bother stopping? If it didn’t mean anything, why not do it again? If you’re only sleeping with me tonight because you want to stay warm, what’s the harm with a little friction between us?” He reaches out, gently touching Erik’s arm, not wanting the man to jolt away from him.

Erik did not, surprisingly, shy away from that touch, maybe because doing so would’ve taken him closer to the edge of the bed. Instead he just stayed where he was, and Charles didn’t need to read his mind to tell how awkward he felt.

“We don’t have to, Erik. I’m just saying -- there’s no harm in enjoying yourself. There’s nothing wrong with us having a little fun.” 

“It isn’t a little fun, Charles.” Erik turned slightly, moving so he could turn his head to look at Charles, and to glare; or at least Charles thought that’s what he was doing, it was a bit difficult to tell in the dark.

“You were in my head, last night, and probably every day you used Cerebro, too, and I’m not sure when else, but I’m sure you were. You know it was more than just -- ” Erik cut himself off, eyes moving to the ceiling. “You said it yourself; you’re a distraction. I’ve been hunting Shaw for years, and when I kill him, it’s probably going to kill me, too. I won’t let you dissuade me from my mission.” He paused, voice going softer, sadder: “And I wouldn’t want to hurt you like that.”

“So you’re afraid you might like it too much. You’re afraid that when it comes down to it, you’re just going to disappear and never come back, or worse case scenario, when you go up against this man it’s going to kill you.” Charles slid forward a bit more, probably invading on Erik’s personal space, just so that he could look the other man in his eyes. “You think that it’s going to hurt you to walk away if you get too involved…”

His fingers trailed over Erik’s arm in a way that was certainly an attempt to be seductive. “You think you’re going to hurt me.” 

Erik shivered under Charles’ touch, and it was so obviously not from the cold. “Yes, Charles, I know I will. It’s better if we’re not anything. Besides, you don’t want me to kill him, you’ll try and stop me.” He met Charles’ gaze again, turning a little more so he was facing him fully. “You could force me to, if you wanted.”

“You’re right. I don’t want you to kill anyone. But that has no bearing on what we are right now. You’ve said it yourself, I could force you to, if I wanted. If I truly wanted to stop you, I could, whether we were together or separate. It doesn’t _matter._ If you truly think you’ll die, what difference does it make whether we sleep together or not?” Charles reasoned, sighing after a moment, lying on his back. “You’re going to do it, or at least attempt it, no matter what I say. If your convictions are so strong, it makes no difference whether we’re sleeping together or not.”

“Charles -- ” Erik began, then paused, eyes back to the ceiling. “Why do you want to be with me? You said -- that night outside the CIA facility, you said you knew everything. You know I’m a monster, you know what I’ve done. Do you want to _save_ me? Is that it? Or do you just want me to fuck you again, right here?”

“I don’t think you’re in need of saving, Erik. I think you have your own agenda. I think you have a lot of pain inside of you, but I don’t think you need to be saved… I just think it’s worth reminding you of the light inside, as well.” Charles murmured, growing closer, and maybe - just maybe - his face was only inches away. “I want to be with you. Isn’t that enough?”

“There is no light,” Erik muttered, but he still didn’t pull away. “Be with me…” He echoed Charles’ words, as if he could hardly believe it. “I wondered, after I left that night, if you’d done something to me, to my mind.”

“Why would I need to do that, Erik?” Charles whispered, tracing a fingertip over Erik’s forehead. “You have light in you. You just have to be able to see it the way that I do.”

Erik hesitated, though the room was a bit too dark for Charles to really see his face, and he was keeping his promise to stay out, so he couldn’t tell exactly what Erik was feeling at the moment. Well, apart from awkward, probably, which was all in his voice. And he chose, for whatever reason, not to answer Charles’ question.

“Charles, have I told you yet how naive and idealistic you are? I must have, at least once.” Charles thought he could hear a smile in Erik’s voice for a second, until his voice fell again. “I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you. Profoundly.”

“I don’t think you could disappoint me if you wanted to.” Charles continued the ascent of his fingertips down Erik’s jawline, finally leaning forward to press his lips softly against Erik’s. Despite the cool air around them, Erik felt warm, open, inviting. Never mind how his words might have been heard, Charles simply couldn’t keep his hands off of him. Erik’s lips parted slightly, head tilting as he returned the kiss, just a tiny, little bit 

“For the record, it doesn’t have to be serious.” Charles whispered against Erik’s mouth, gently ghosting his lips over his chin as he pulled away. “I just…” He frowned, unsure how to speak the words on his mind. 

Erik was still staring up at Charles when he pulled away, mouth hanging open. “Charles,” Erik whispered, closing his eyes, bringing up a hand to move it over Charles’ arm. “Will you let me think about it?” He brought a hand up, touching Charles’ cheek now.

“You can think about it as long as you’d like, certainly.” Charles sighed, dropping his head down on Erik’s chest. “I’m sorry if I overstepped a boundary.”

“It’s a little late for that, I think, considering how you propositioned me the day after we met.” Oddly, Erik didn’t sound at all annoyed. “I’d like you to kiss me again, though.” His fingers were stroking Charles’ hair now. “It doesn’t mean I’ve decided, but I would like it.”

Charles leaned in again to kiss him, just a brief, momentary thing before pulling away, meeting Erik’s gaze. “I’m willing to kiss you as many times as you’d like, my friend.”

“Good,” Erik murmured, his tone more commanding now, “again.” This time, though, he was the one who leaned in. And this time it was something deeper, open mouthed, as Erik pulled Charles into a full on embrace. It didn’t take long before they were kissing one another again, again, and again, all teeth and tongues, and nipping at each other’s lips.

They lasted a short while before Charles huddled beneath the covers with him, sighing against his lips, finally dropping against his shoulder and curling in close. It didn’t take very long before Erik’s breathing evened out, his mind somehow slowing, not nearly as closed off, as shielded as Erik tended to be in their day to day relations. Despite the man’s guard being down, Charles didn’t push -- didn’t attempt to go prying for things he knew he shouldn’t, simply dropped his forehead against his neck and held him close as they both fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness of this, guys! Some life stuff came up, but we'll try to be quicker with the next one.

Erik woke at his usual early time the next day, even without the alarm clock. He was so used to waking up at 7 am that he didn’t need it. What he wasn’t used to, though, was opening his eyes to see Charles still curled up against him, soundly asleep. It was such that Erik actually wondered if he was dreaming at first, until what happened the previous night had kicked in.

The kissing -- Charles tasted as good as Erik remembered -- and then the cuddling and the falling asleep together. Erik had said he’d think about it, about what Charles had said.

He wasn’t even really sure where to start with that, all the resistance he’d built up to the very notion, the way he’d steeled himself against it, and Charles had pulled most of it down with a single, salient point: _It doesn’t matter_ , he’d said, Erik would still be dedicated to his cause, to his mission, regardless of how Charles tried to convince him. And much as Charles kept invoking Erik’s words about them not being anything, Erik was sure he knew that wasn’t true.

Erik liked him, perhaps he even liked him a lot. He did not _love_ him (never that, he doubted that would happen, he wondered sometimes if he was even capable of it now), but he certainly enjoyed the way Charles challenged him, the long, often spirited conversations they had. He’d even opened up a little bit about his past to Charles, though only a little bit. Charles probably knew most of it in detail, anyway.

He’d tried to make it clear that they weren’t friends, but Erik knew they often talked like they were. And when they’d gone to recruit Angel, when they’d sat side by side on that bed, it had felt like they were more than that. Erik had spent the whole time trying not to think about how much he wanted to kiss Charles then, particularly when they were waiting for the girl. He’d tried not to dwell too much on how close they were, brushed together. He hadn’t even pushed when Charles had shared some joke with Angel, when he’d said _You’ve never looked more beautiful, darling._ In hindsight he was amazed he’d managed to keep his friendly demeanour, lowering his guard enough to speak to Charles as if they were friends, or maybe even more, all for the benefit of appearing friendly in order to recruit the girl.

He sighed, looking at Charles again; so beautiful, he looked, curled up there like that, their combined body heat enough to ward off the cold. Well, that and the two quilts.

At that thought, as though he’d willed it to happen, the alarm clock blinked on, along with the light by the door, and the thermostat. Thankfully, none of them were particularly noisy, and Charles remained sleeping soundly, tucked up against Erik. And while a part of him didn’t want to move, he could get used to waking up next to Charles, Erik decided it would be a good idea to go outside and inspect everything. Besides,he needed to see about breakfast, and he was sure there would be at least one diner open in this town somewhere.

After he’d untangled himself from Charles, albeit reluctantly, he checked the thermostat to make sure it was at an acceptable heat. He then pulled off one of the quilts, leaving it on the empty bed. He managed, with his usual efficiency, to shower and ready himself for the day without letting his mind drift too much to Charles or the decision he had to make.

No, he saved the pondering for the walk around town that he elected to take, to stretch his legs.

The whole town was coated in a thin layer of white. The snow crunched under Erik’s feet, revealing the pavement below it with each step he took. It hadn’t snowed terribly much, so it must’ve been the wind that knocked out the power, or the storm was much worse out of town, wherever the power plant was located. 

The town wasn’t very big, and Erik guessed the motel was probably one of its most profitable businesses, as a stop off for travellers on their way through town. Still, it seemed like a decent little place, the kind of place where everyone knew each other. Several people said “good morning” to him simply as they passed him in the street, and one was kind enough to direct him to the only diner open this early in the morning. Of course, he suspected they wouldn’t be nearly as nice if they knew what he was, but he did not dwell on that.

It started snowing again as he crossed the street, heading for the diner. As he did, he stopped before another shop--an antiques store--the window display catching his eye. He didn’t think often of his childhood, before the camps, or the short life he’d had in Germany before his family had fled to Poland. But now he felt like he was looking at parts of it.

There was a typewriter, the sort that reminded him of the one his father had owned, and, more importantly, three toy soldiers. Tin soldiers, he could feel the metal through the glass, every contour of it, the work that had gone into crafting them. They looked like American soldiers, from World War One, whereas young Erik’s had been German, but the reminder still struck him. 

He didn’t remember much, of course, but he did remember how he’d set up all the tin soldiers, the effort he’d put into it, how he’d left one of them out on his bedroom desk, and how oblivious he was to the outside world. He didn’t really remember happiness from that time, but there’d been a contentment, or at least he thought there must have been, even if he couldn’t remember it. He had only the recollection of how he’d played with the tin soldiers. His power hadn’t even developed at that point. That was before the Nazis had lit up the streets one night in November, breaking shop windows and setting Synagogues aflame; after that, he couldn’t even remember a time when he’d felt content, not as a child anyway.

Standing there, he thought of Charles again, and all the things that Shaw had taken from him, and the last time he’d thought he could move past it and live a happy life. That was with Magda, when he’d considered giving up the hunt. But this time he wasn’t considering that, this time he was close to ending it. And Charles was different, Charles was like him, standing at that door to a world so different than the one he’d grown up in.

Getting a little closer to the window, he took a look inside, but he couldn’t go in because it wasn’t open. Shame, really, as he was sure he would’ve bought those tin soldiers if he could. Perhaps later, they would be here for a while, he was sure.

Looking at the soldiers again, he supposed, maybe, it would be possible to have the things he wanted, even if he didn’t deserve it, even if he was a monster.

Except Charles didn’t think he was. Charles thought he was a good person, that he would never disappoint him.

God, how could Erik live up to the man’s expectations of him? And how could Erik even like someone he found so utterly infuriating, as well as so wonderful? He didn’t know. But he did know that he may have a chance at living past Shaw if he fought him with other mutants. With Charles.

Just because he could do this alone did not mean he wanted to.

The only danger came in the possibility that Charles’ desire to see Shaw’s life spared (or for him not to die at Erik’s hands, at least) might result in Charles doing something to stop Erik. But surely, that something wouldn’t also be a thing that could get Erik killed. If he believed nothing else, he had to believe that Charles at least cared about him, and that Charles’ morality would never be the cause of his death at Shaw’s hands.

And besides, Erik was already here, he was already on Charles’ side, with the CIA, and with other mutants. If he wanted to pursue Shaw alone, and ensure no one got in his way, he would’ve left. And he hadn’t. Whatever was between him and Charles didn’t necessarily matter in the end.

He studied the intricate detail of the tin soldiers for what must’ve been the hundredth time, and in that moment he decided what he would do. And he felt lighter the moment he did; all his doubts weren’t banished, but he felt much lighter.

Turning, he walked down the street, toward the diner, greeting the next person he passed with an uncharacteristic “good morning” of his own. Maybe even monsters could be happy, he thought to himself.

***

After he’d gone to the diner and got himself some coffee and Charles his tea (a cup of earl grey), Erik headed back to the hotel. On the way, he noticed the antiques shop was open, and he couldn't resist going in. When he got back to the motel room, where he found Charles still sound asleep, he was carrying a wooden box, and those three tin soldiers were tucked snugly in his jacket pocket, the nearness of the metal very comforting, much more so than Shaw’s coin.

Erik set the tea down on the bedside table, discarding the box on the other bed before he sat down next to Charles, gently nudging him.

“Charles, wake up,” Erik whispered, giving him another gentle nudge. He leaned in closer, so he could have a better look when those blue eyes of his opened.

Charles made a sound, something to the effect of a grunt, and rolled over onto his stomach, not quite willing to wake up.

Erik looked at him, then smirked. Of course. Charles could, he’d noted before, take some time to get out of bed in the morning. And it was barely 9 am. Erik looked at him for a moment, putting his hand on his back, hesitating only briefly before he slid a hand up into his hair. He’d been wanting to do that again for a while, too.

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik whispered, right up against his ear, and louder now.

“What do you want?” He grumbled back, voice tired and still quite a bit affected by sleep. The smaller man shifted, rolled over slightly, burying his head in the pillow despite Erik’s closeness.

“I brought you your tea, so I wouldn’t incur your wrath,” Erik responded, not moving away. “Although I really can’t imagine you being dreadful at all.” He hadn’t even given Charles his answer yet, but still, he kissed his ear, and then parted his lips to press them to his neck.

It took a moment for Charles to respond, sighing softly whenever those lips pressed against him. He glanced up towards him momentarily, almost cautiously continuing as he pulled up into a seated position, taking the tea with quietly mumbled gratitude. “Suppose we should be on our way soon, shouldn’t we?” Charles smiled towards him. “I can be terribly dreadful. You’re lucky you’ve brought tea.”

Erik didn’t say anything about leaving, though he supposed they really ought to get on that. But as he watched Charles, all tired and floppy haired and so, so gorgeous, he wanted only one thing. He’d wanted it for days and days, truth be told.

“Maybe tomorrow I won’t bring you any tea, to test that claim,” Erik said casually, watching Charles sip his tea as he laid one hand on his waist. He wondered if he would notice, particularly as he was still sitting close.

“Are you really sure you want to test me?” Charles responded, somehow either not noticing or not quite responding to the sudden closeness that Erik was displaying. He certainly did seem happier, sighing softly as he blew against the surface of the hot liquid to cool it down before sipping it again. 

“I’m sure. What terrible things would you possibly do to me? You’re far too good for any of that.” Erik just kept watching him, not wanting to surprise him too soon and make him spill the rather hot drink. So he moved slowly instead, toeing off his shoes, and then tugging the covers down just a bit. He wondered absently if Charles could see what he was thinking of doing to him.

“I could do a great deal of things if you _truly_ got on my bad side. Some of which aren’t quite so obvious.” Charles set the tea down on the nightstand next to him, watching as Erik climbed closer to him, watching him as he moved closer. “More likely than not, you’ll just have me in a terribly sour mood.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we? I’d rather you be cheerful.” With the cup out of his way, Erik had no reason to go slow anymore. He yanked the bedsheets down farther, shoving one hand up under Charles’ shirt to touch, as his other hand pulled open Charles’ pants.

He leaned in and kissed Charles’ neck again, pulling at flesh with his teeth, enough to make Charles gasp under him. Erik liked that sound, almost as much as he liked it when Charles moaned and whined for him.

Charles clearly hadn’t quite expected that but he certainly didn’t seem to mind. He slid his hips up as Erik’s hand delved beneath his pants, his head tipping back as Erik continued to mark over the pale column of his throat. “Erik…” The professor pushed up against him, not bothering to push him back, though his nails raked down Erik’s skin, making Erik shiver. “What are you doing?”

“Something you want,” Erik whispered, pulling Charles’ sweater over his head, shoving up the shirt underneath so he could move downward, kissing his chest, then down to his belly button. His gaze flickered up to Charles, watching him delightedly as he finally closed his other hand around his cock, stroking him slowly. He wanted him hard and aching, and he licked his lips to signal his intent. Charles’ body shifted, writhing beneath his touch, the smaller man letting out a moan.

“By the way,” Erik added, sliding his tongue over the length of Charles’ dick, “my answer is yes. I want you, Charles.”

“Hell of a way to tell me, my friend,” Charles breathed out, licking his lips, brown lashes dropping over his cheeks. “Not that I’m complaining.” His hips arched, trying to seek out more of that tongue, more of that mouth over his sensitive skin. “Mmm…”

Erik just smirked, giving Charles’ cock a light squeeze, relishing the little sound he drew from the other man at that. He hadn’t really gotten a good look at Charles’ cock before, but he found he quite liked it now, liked the way that foreskin slid over his length with every pull, every stroke. It had taken only a matter of moments for him to get Charles fully hard, enough to expose the tip of his cock, so he could lick over it slowly.

He watched Charles, watched as those red lips parted in a moan. Erik had barely begun and already he loved how Charles looked, lips open, eyes half lidded, face flushed; he looked just this side of obscene, deliciously so. Still, there was one thing missing.

“I want to feel what you feel, all your pleasure,” Erik said softly, lips finally closing around the tip of Charles’ cock, tongue working the slit, tasting all the precome that had gathered there.

When he’d finished moaning softly at that, Charles looked at him knowingly, sliding a hand through Erik’s hair. He sighed softly as Erik sucked and licked, and the feeling of the man’s tongue against him, the way Erik pulled away so allow his breath to ghost over the length of him had Charles gripping the sheets below him with his other hand. “You want to feel what you make me feel?” He repeated, and licked at his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth.

It didn’t take long before Erik could feel _everything_ \- the slow drag of his lips over Charles’ erection, the spikes of pleasure through his body as Erik touched him just right, as Charles writhed and whimpered beneath him. Charles opened himself to him entirely, broadcasting his pleasure straight to Erik, sharing with him just how wonderful it felt.

“Mmmmm….” Erik hummed, doubling his efforts as all that pleasure settled over him, one of the most amazing things about Charles using his power during sex. And even though Erik hadn’t even touched himself, hadn’t freed his own hardening cock from the confines of his pants, he suddenly felt hot all over, a shiver sliding down his spine. It was enough that the metal in the room began to shudder right along with him. And he let it happen, again loving the freedom of being with Charles.

Erik shoved both his hands under Charles’ shirt, fingers finding and pinching his nipples, pulling at those pretty red nubs as he finally swallowed Charles down, taking him all the way in. It wasn’t so difficult to do, and Erik preferred it that way, liked that Charles wasn’t big enough to choke on. He hummed again, trying to show his appreciation.

Charles allowed the pleasure to spike and Erik, who felt _everything_ Charles did, knew that the other man was allowing himself the luxury of feeling the pleasure emanating from Erik’s head in turn, perhaps thinking it was fine for him to be able to do such things considering Erik’s own request. And, well, Erik couldn’t find it in him to protest, it seemed only fair. As he swallowed him down entirely, Charles’ hips rose up, jerking up into his mouth. 

“God, yes. Please, Erik...” The telepath moaned, running his fingers through Erik’s short hair, gripping softly. 

Erik’s fingers kept up their work on Charles’ nipples, teasing them, liking how Charles _writhed_ beneath him, and every little noise he coaxed from him. With Charles’ pleasure, his feelings, going through him, Erik knew exactly what felt just right, and exactly what to keep doing. He forced himself to set his own needs aside; this was about Charles, and was meant as a sort of apology for making him wait so long, for every hurtful thing he said when he tried pushing him away.

He pulled off, pulled back slowly, replacing his mouth with his hand. “Mmm, Charles, I want--” He hesitated a moment, wondering if he could really trust him with this, trust him not to look. But it seemed silly to worry; Charles could be looking now, and Erik would never know; he was already sort of in Erik’s head anyway, feeling all of Erik’s pleasure. “I want to speak to you, inside your head, like you spoke to me the first time. How can I do that, without you rifling around?” He gave another slow lick, more than happy to be distracting; Charles certainly was, often enough.

“You can’t speak to me in that particular way, because you can’t broad--- “ His breath hitched, and he shifted, squirmed and writhed whenever Erik slid his hand over the head of him, moaning whenever a tongue slid over him. “ -- You can’t broadcast your thoughts alone. You have to be able to open your mind to me, and trust that I won’t look anywhere I’m not wanted.”

Erik wasn’t sure now, and he hesitated, even stopping his movements for a moment. He closed his eyes; when Charles put it that way, it made it harder to say yes. He knew he wouldn’t send thoughts the way Charles did, he wasn’t a telepath, but he thought, perhaps…

Oh, hell.

“Then how do I-- You just need me to think loudly at you? How do I know when I’m doing that, and how do I not?” He started moving his hand again, determined not to lose this. He loved very much the idea of speaking inside Charles’ mind while his mouth was full, just like he’d love it if Charles did that to him.

“You give me permission. Any thoughts you’re able to put at the forefront of your mind will be the ones I’ll access. I could access more, but I don’t want to overstep your boundaries…” Charles mumbled, still very much aroused, sighing aloud whenever Erik touched him.

Erik did not answer for a moment, covering his continuing contemplation by swallowing Charles down once more, watching Charles gasp, then moan as he arched his hips upward. Those red lips of his were still open, his eyes half-lidded and dark, locked on Erik.

He didn’t need to be watching Charles to know how much he was enjoying this, Charles’ pleasure was still filling his head, heady and blissful, spiking when Erik dragged his tongue along the underside of Charles’ cock as he came back up for air.

“Alright, Charles… you have permission,” he whispered, after a few brief moments of hesitation. He didn’t really trust Charles, not really -- which seemed silly, considering this thing they’d started -- but Charles had already said he knew “everything” and Erik knew he could look into his head any time he liked.

“You’re sure about that?” Charles breathed out, biting his lip and running his tongue over his lips. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Erik answered at once, his hand still moving.

With that, Charles tilted his head back, closed his eyes and slid his hand over Erik’s on his cock, gently cupping over the man’s wrist. « _I can hear you now, Erik. Speak to me._ »

Hearing that voice in his head felt all the more intimate in this moment, just like it had the first time, when Charles was far too busy moaning to be able to speak at all.

He opened his mouth, taking in Charles’ length again. « _Can you? Good._ » He gave one slow, long lick on his way up, then took him down once more. « _I wanted to do this to you that first night, and ever since then, to see what you’d look like with my mouth on your cock._ » He hummed softly, just to make it better.

« _Is that the case?_ » Erik couldn’t help judging by Charles’ tone that he preferred this method of communication. « _It feels… ah, bloody fantastic._ »

« _Yes, I was still thinking of you after I left the facility, you and everything we did…._ » Erik wasn’t sure if he preferred speaking this way or not, but there was something incredibly hot about being able to keep communicating even when he was swallowing Charles down. And the thought of Charles doing it, too; he wanted that, later, the next time Charles did this to him.

« _Faster - come on, darling, please, a bit more on the tip, I’m close, Erik - please..._ » Charles’ eyes fluttered over his cheeks, his body shifting, moving closer towards Erik. A hand wound it’s way over the back of Erik’s neck, attempting to get just a bit more friction, a bit more of that heated warmth over him. « _Feels wonderful..._ »

Erik wondered then how wonderful it would be to tease Charles, to not give him what he wanted immediately. But no, not this time, not when he wanted to watch him come apart. So he obeyed, lips sliding up and down faster and faster before he stopped at the tip, using his hand to stroke over him in place of his mouth. « _Like this, Charles? Is this what you want? Will this make you come for me?_ » Erik tongued at his tip now, tasting precome, humming again. His fingers applied just a little bit more pressure, squeezing ever so slightly.

« _Yes, god - yes, Erik, that’s absolutely perfect -_ » Thoughts had become a jumbled mess, and clearly Charles could barely even focus his mind clearly enough to communicate, instead pulling forward with a moan, holding onto Erik and lifting his hips up. « _C-can’t hold back, going to come, Erik, I can’t - !_ » It didn’t take much longer before Charles was coming, his hand gripped at the back of Erik’s neck, the telepath shuddering gently as Erik finished him off.

Erik did what he’d wanted to from the start, swallowing the moment he felt that sweet, salty taste in his mouth. He hummed again, this time with approval, before he pulled back, licking his lips. His eyes raked over Charles’ body, and he felt immensely pleased with himself in that moment. He leaned in for a kiss, letting Charles taste himself in Erik’s mouth, eyes closing.

When he pulled away, he gave Charles a smile, and then spoke out loud: “I’m sorry, Charles.” Erik Lehnsherr did not usually feel bad about things, and if he did, apologies weren’t really something he did often. He looked away then.

Charles glanced up towards him, eyelids at half-mast, smiling sleepily his way in response. “Why are you sorry? For what?”

« _Trying to push you away, and everything I said when I did._ » He looked at Charles, and then he realized that he hadn’t quite meant to broadcast that thought, but he had. He also realized, then, that using Charles’ telepathy was going to make it easier to talk about these sorts of things. It was easier to form thoughts than words.

“You don’t have to apologize. I understand.” Charles chose to speak aloud to him, leaning in to rest his head against his shoulder. “You don’t really give yourself enough credit.”

No, perhaps he didn’t. He hurt people rather easily, it was what he knew how to do, Shaw had seen to that.

He moved then, laying down next to Charles, up against him, and it was only then that he remembered he was still hard, that he hadn’t gotten any relief himself. Instead of saying anything about it, though, instead of asking, he contented himself with kissing Charles. Of course, he didn’t need to ask, not as he pulled Charles down beside him, arms around him as they continued to exchange heated kisses, because Charles’ hand had already wandered between their bodies to palm at Erik’s cock through his trousers. 

Erik moaned softly through the kiss, tongue sliding again Charles’. Of course Charles was going to take care of him, and he was more than happy to spend the whole morning here with him on this bed. There was so much time to make up for.

He didn’t know what this was, this thing between them, or what it might become. Love didn’t cross his mind, but he liked it nonetheless. And he liked Charles, too.


End file.
